The very brave tulips

My tulips are brave in the wind. It nearly forces them to touch the ground when it blows at its hardest. They look quite fragile, as if a small puff of wind could blow the leaves right off. How do they hang on so tightly?

I want to be brave in the wind, too.

I want to hold onto my leaves and my colors. Would that look like courage and a smile, like kindness and joy?

I want to keep that while bending down low, while the wind comes right at me and pushes me down. And then to bounce back up again.

I tend to think my life should be that of a tulip in a grassy little flower garden on a sunny day in June all of the time.

When it isn’t, I tend to think it is dreadful, and my life is dreadful, and I am dreadful, and everything will always be dreadful. Like something is wrong, big time, with my life and myself.

Silly me. Am I so easily fooled? Tricked into discontentment? It would seem that I am.

There is rain and there is sunshine, there are dark skies and blue skies, there is mud and sand, a caterpillar, a cocoon and a butterfly. There are elephants who carry their babies inside of them for 21 months. There are deserts and jungles, mountains and valleys, lakes with water that stays quietly and streams that rush on by. There are storms and rainbows and there was creation and there was the fall and the cross and all of these things make up life and the world.

And I say I never want to be tired and I never want to be bored and I want everything I do to work out the way I had it worked out in my mind from the very first time I try it. And I want everything to always be happy and good for me.

Because my first steps in cooking and sewing and patience and kindness are never even near being as adorable as Caleb’s first steps.

He’s had first steps since January 20th, now. And he still doesn’t really walk but he does that not-quite-walking thing so, so well.

He looks at me and smiles and toddles over, 5 steps, proud. Then he crawls or falls into my arms.

Almost 3 months of first steps and although for a little bit there, my motherly pride in the accomplishment of my children took a dent, I am loving the cuteness now. Don’t run quite yet, little one. Keep toddling to me with your faltering little steps.

Remind me that I cannot be perfect from this second onward, but remind me to never quit trying.

Remind me to fall into my Father’s arms like you fall into mine and remind me He looks at me with a smile full of love the way I smile full of love at you, with warm and big feelings that make my heart feel like it will explode.

Is that why He gave you to me? Or did He do it just because He just really wanted a little Caleb on this beautiful planet He created?

Remind me of those things, little one.

To bend down and bounce up and not to snap and fall down in the dirt because I am so upset about bending.


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