I was looking around the pasture early Sunday morning, trying to find out what might have caused the cut on the back of the mare’s leg-a vee-shaped gash near the hock. I found some kid’s toy truck that had been thrown over the fence and a few bits of trash and other debris. The only thing I found that seemed even remotely possible as the injury culprit was a piece of old broken concrete with a sharp, jagged corner. There was no blood, though, to confirm possibility as definite. As I walked along the fence, near the elm trees on the old property line, I noticed a bunch of small weeds, loaded with blooms.
Funny how blooms turn weeds into wildflowers, isn’t it?
These were only eight-to-twelve inches tall and covered with tiny, daisy-like blossoms. The long, slender petals were white. Some of the blooms had yellowish centers, some had lavender ones. They were all lovely, dainty. There was nothing dainty about the stems, though; they were tough and wiry. I pulled out my pocketknife and began cutting some to make a bouquet for Randa.
A few minutes later, while I was arranging them in a small glass, I reflected on the “transformation” of the plants, which was really more about the transformation in my perception. A week ago, they were just weeds, an inconvenience, an aggravation because they were growing where I’d rather have had grass for the horses.
There are people and events in our lives that throughout the long, dry summers seem like nothing more than weeds. We have no desire for them or see any particular reason to pursue relationship with them or make any effort to get to know them better. “Why would God put you in my life?” we may wonder, “You’re actually a bit annoying, really.”
Until they bloom. And then, at just the right time on just the right day, they bring an unexpected relief and blessing to us.