This year I made a goal to start learning the names of all the wildflowers that I meet on my walks. I downloaded an app on my phone. I take a picture, the app scans it and tells me what it’s called. My eyes are always searching for a flower that I haven’t yet identified. I have found myself crouched over, on hands and knees, trying to capture the image of a tiny flower that no eye would have ever seen, had I not stumbled upon it. It’s awakened a new sense of wonder in me. The intricacies astound me! The truth is, I’ve learned a lot more than the names of a few flowers. I have learned, a little bit, about how to live. A new quietness and contentment has filled my heart as I have studied them. I am learning about what it means to truly be free.
One of the great lessons that I have learned is that one does not need to be seen to shine. I am always amazed when I find a tiny, delicate flower, tucked away in the tall grass or off the beaten path. That flower did not bloom to impress or get any kind of glory for itself. It does not scream “Look at me! Acknowledge me!” It simply grows where it’s placed, by whatever circumstances placed it there.
I have also noticed that a Spring Beauty is simply a Spring Beauty. A Violet is simply a Violet. They don’t compare themselves to each other. One doesn’t attempt to outshine the other. They are each beautiful in their own way. They don’t lose the essence of who they are by trying to become the flower that blooms across the meadow. It is true that some will stand out more than others. A field of Daisies will naturally draw more attention than, my favorite, the Blue-Eyed Mary. However, I highly doubt that those little flowers waste an ounce of energy wishing that they were a Daisy.
Furthermore, I have found that the tiniest of flowers are, in my opinion, the most glorious. I love daisies. They are simple and lovely. But, have you ever looked very closely at the faces of some of the tiniest of flowers? They are amazing! It is as if they were painted with a tiny brush, with excruciating detail. They are true hidden treasures, and only those who seek them out will discover their elegance.
A wildflower doesn’t think to itself, “I’m too short.” “I’m too gangly.” “I’m too purple.” “I’m not red enough.” “I wish my stamens were orange instead of yellow.” Wildflowers don’t strive to be something that they are not.
Oh, to be like a wildflower. They are free. Free from striving. Free from insecurity. Free from hating themselves and those that they compare themselves to. They are free from trying to figure out who they are and what their place is in this world. They are free from living for the approval of others. They are free to be exactly who they were created to be. They are free to blossom and offer life to those that come and drink of their sweet nectar.
Oh, to be a wildflower, who turns it’s face towards Heaven and brings glory to the one who made it, as long as it lives.