What the flowers teach us

The sunflowers have bowed their golden heads. Not to the sun, but to the changing season. As the temperatures at night have dropped into the low fifties the large 14′ plants have dipped nearly to the ground. The sure sign of the coming fall is here. 

Last week  I gathered my helpers and we cut all the beautiful red headed ones off the plants. With lots of requests for some seed, hopefully the heads will dry and not mold. The volunteer plants that came up this spring from my daughters first packet of seeds a few years ago have multiplied quite beautifully. 

This summer we fed bees, butterflies, and a beautiful yellow finch. While others were filling bird feeders, our seeds and pollen kept a host of creatures quite happy. We knew the migration of the winged creatures was soon. Yesterday in the morning -when of course I did not have my phone-I witnessed five monarchs and three bees all in a one foot square area of the zinnias that are also product of saved blossoms. 

Though I was late on burying the wildflower seeds in my tire garden, but the winged critters still had time to enjoy them. We are not as excited about the insects that have found the vined fruit in the outdoor garden. Tomato beetles and such have devastated about half the crop. Next year I really am going to just toss the plant babies that I have no room for. Overcrowding in the garden creates a regular feast for the little bugs. 

As the world groans under the seize of hurricane winds, devastating floods and unimaginable earthquakes, some people   bow their heads in awe of the Creator. Yet others raise fists in defiance. 

Through all the seemingly business of taking care of plants my heart has been weighted down and my head feels the gravity of loneliness. Recently that weight has driven me to inventory my life and search out those who might feel it’s weight also. 

My first recourse is always to search scripture. The story of Hagar banished to the wilderness continues to draw me to a similar well. In Genesis chapter 16 she finds herself at a fountain. Her realization that God sees her prompts her to rename the spring: God Who Sees Me.  

While my eyesight continues to steal vision from me and I am now often missing seeing things, people, or the dog chasing a cat and running right into my legs and knocking me to the ground- I am pulled towards this idea that God Sees Me. 

I bow my head frequently. To see the path. To recover from a branch slap in the face. To ask God to help me with the loneliness of country life.  And as a watch care over the greenhouse and the gardens I am often reminded again how much my eyesight makes me miss. Then one small little creation gives me pleasure. 

One flower, one taste of goodness, one bowed head of a sunflower. One fountain and tractor tire pond. In my lonely alone garden moments God Sees Me and I am  blessed with the growth of some new thing. Sowing and reaping might fill my time and keep me busy but the God who sees me is the One who sustains my life.