I Want to Give You Something

It wasn't even 9am and I'd been brought to tears twice already. Both times evoked by beauty and innocence. 

These days I step outside first thing and shamelessly greet all the players in my garden. Noting how the cucumber, less than 24 hours after assembling a twig tower for it to climb, has already sent out a pale tendril to secure itself fills me with awe and a little song of praise. Seeing that our wisteria is just a shade of its former self, due, I presume, to a harsh winter, I encourage her, "It's ok; some Springs are like that. I'm just glad you're here." But it was the poppy pictured above—one whose popping I'd been awaiting for days—who evoked my tears. Just four paper thin petals and one perfect eye. The wind sowed here there, not me. The most satisfying gifts so rarely come through what we plan or labor over. 

The ease of it all made me wistful, and I thought of a verse from poet David Whyte, recently shared by my husband:

Sometimes . . . I look out/ at everything/ growing so wild/ and faithfully beneath/ the sky/ and wonder/ why we are the one/ terrible/ part of creation/ privileged/ to refuse our flowering.

I was holding this koan as I stepped onto the sidewalk to make my way to the lavender, with whom I have an agreement to never pass by without pausing to move my hands through her scented body and let her perfume me. Our sporty car was parked on the roadside and up pedaled a boy about 10 years old. Pausing on his bright orange bike, matching orange shoes completing his delightful package, he asked, "Is this your Subaru?" 

"Yes, it is," I answered, smiling. 

"I have one, too!" he announced, continuing, "I'm a car enthusiast!"

"I get it!" I said. "This one is fun to drive! But you've got your own pretty nice ride, and great fit, too, with those matching orange shoes!" 

"Yeah, people at school have been commenting on it all week," he admitted.

"I bet!" 

He looked to his friend, up and across the street waiting for him, and as he started to go I wished him a great day and he he said, "Same to you!" 

And then, he added, turning back and shouting, "I'm going to give you something!" 

Curiosity sparked, I stood there as he proceeded to make a wide circle with his bike in the middle of the road. Like a great falcon circling a blessing.

I cheered my gratitude, and waved.

The next thing I knew I was sobbing. What was it, I wondered, that unwound me like that? I think it was the innocent simplicity of his gift to me—a simple sharing of what brings him delight. The ease of his flowering. And the trusting of the sap rising in his flesh, and a deep knowing that living his joy is a gift to all who behold him. May he never lose this.

And may we recover it.

Soul friend, I wish us all that freedom, to embody our joy, and to trust that therein lies our gift for All in Whom we are beheld.