Dandelions

Dandelions. Unappreciated. Unwanted. Unimportant.
Never find 'em wrapped in cellophane, sold in flower shops, offered for sale by vendors on street corners during peak holiday seasons. Not many poems or stories written over them,(except maybe Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine).

The only time I've seen to notice the things of late, is when they suddenly crop up unannounced, and yes, unwanted in my yard...like the other morning.

Hot mug of tea in hand, I opened the living room curtains and spotted not one, not two, but three of the things not just growing, but flourishing in my front yard. I'm not sure, but I think they were even sticking out their tongues at me.

Threw on my jeans and sweatshirt. Grabbed my spade, and dug 'em out, roots and all. Mission accomplished, gave it no more thought for the day.

Next morning, same thing: Tea. Window.

Dandelions.

Five more...Standing tall, their yellow heads gracefully faced the morning sun and glowed across my perfect sea of freshly mown green.

Jeans, sweatshirt, spade, "action" - I was transformed into a focused woman, intent on a purpose. So I repeated the same action from the previous morning, but with a whole lot less patience.

Speed ahead now, please, a full 24 hours.

Same house. Tea. Curtain. But with a new twist.
The things were growing so fast, that half of the eight had already transformed themselves into fragile balls of white. I marched out. Without dressing for the occasion. Tried not to trip over my terrycloth robe as the hem dragged through the wet grass. I was determined to win this war on weeds: Spade in hand, I knelt down on the grass covered with morning dew. Sighed worthy of a drama queen. Reached forward to yank the nearest offending weed...and without warning, was suddenly catalyst back into time: of toddlers finding precious jewels of gold...children offering bouquets more honorable and valuable than could be found in any florist shop....gifts given in the course of a busy day - all in the Spirit of Love alone.

In the language of love, these dandelions spoke clearly, without words - by the child whom now stood in front of me, bare chubby knees covered in dirt, face beaming, offering to me,this sunny colored flower.

Hugs and kisses were the order of the day.

Work was abandoned while basking in the moment
frozen in time...as I held the precious bouquet close to my cheek, and felt the warmth of the sun's rays.

Appreciation. Worthiness-

Joy encompassed tightly around the two of us, this child and I as we hugged.

Love.

Wrapped around a dandelion stem with pudgy three year old fingers.

My memory sped backwards into a time of my youth, where promises of hope magically took place while I, too, searched for puffs of white: Ever so carefully I'd pinch the stems free of their homes, and slowly, with patience bred of expectations, I would raise the offering up, and with a blanket of blue skies backdropped and beckoning, I'd release - set free billowing parachutes, seeds of promise in one long, steady puff. Caught on wings unseen, they'd lift high in search of something somewhere beyond my sight...

Dandelions.

They have a lot in common with prayer. One prayer
in a sea empty of any other of its kind has such a potential. Cast out in faith, it comes back to bless.

Nothing can stop it. Not cement. Pavement. Rock...

Travels farther, is found in the most amazing of circumstances, the most unexpected places.

It is readily available to all.

Can't purchase it.

The more you use it, the more you have.

The more you have, the more you share.

The more you share, the more is given.

I just opened my living room curtains again this morning...

Do I see weeds, or opportunities of prayer?

Once more, I go outside, but without the spade.

Pick a fluffy ball free, and blow a prayer of Thanksgiving, sending praises high.

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"O LORD, HOW MANIFOLD ARE YOUR WORKS! IN WISDOM YOU HAVE MADE THEM ALL; THE EARTH IS FULL OF YOUR CREATURES."-Psalm 104