Wildflower Writes

I’m a homebody anyway, but something about a windy, rainy fall day makes me want to light a fire, wrap up in a cuddly fleece, and read an escape novel with a cup of hot chocolate.  I have always said that spring is my favorite season.  Each day grows warmer, and the snow melts away.  Green things start to grow and flourish, and it seems as if hope is a tangible presence in the air. I like summer, but it always seems like everyone’s playing when I have to work.  To be indoors seems almost unbearable when the sun shines warm, and fluffy white clouds float over swaying green trees.  Although winter is my least favorite season, it can be breathtakingly beautiful, when snow outlines dark leafless trees and covers the landscape in a tranquil white blanket. This year, however, I’m gaining a new appreciation for autumn.  The colors of the trees have been incredible this year- brilliant golds, scarlets, and tangerines, blended with layers of green and chocol...

You’ve probably heard of The Serenity Prayer by Reinhold Niebuhr: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Or perhaps you’ve heard St. Theresa’s prayer: May today there be peace within. May you trust your highest power that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into our bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of you. Or maybe the Prayer of St. Francis: Lord, make me an instrument of your peace, Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy; I...

“If I scream, will you come to my room?” The first time my son asked me this question, I said “no.”  He had awakened early due to a bad dream and my husband and I were trying to get him to go back to bed.  I didn’t want to encourage him to scream to get my attention.  In the past, he has yelled “mommy, Mommy, MOMMY!” until I am able to physically respond to him, which can take some doing in the wee hours of the morning.  I wanted him to learn to come to me when he wanted me. The second time my son asked me the same question, it was before he went to bed.  I finally realized what he was asking.  He didn’t want permission to yell for me in the middle of the night.  He wanted to know that if he was overcome with fear of the darkness and the shadows of nightmares, and he called out to me, that I would come to him.  Whether he needed me or not, he wanted to know that I would be there.  Only when I answered in the affirmative did he have the co...

If I never see another leaf again, it will be too soon. My daughter finished her leaf identification project today- the one that was assigned almost 3 weeks ago.  Yes, if my parents are reading this they are shaking their heads- I, too, have procrastinated practically from the crib.  Of course, she needed help figuring out which leaves were lobed and which ones had pennant-like veins, and whether the edges were smooth or had teeth.  I think I’ve visited every tree identification site on the web, and my poor old book I used when I was a kid is falling apart. I actually remembered some stuff, too.  My favorite leaves are from the tulip tree, with it’s unique V on the top.  I also like the sassafras leaves, because they look like mittens.  Aspens are neat too, they appear to turn colors when they blow in the wind.  On second thought, I will miss the leaves on the trees when they’ve all fallen off and the horizon is lined with bare branches.  ...

According to dictionary.com, a writer is 1) a person engaged in writing books, articles, stories, etc., esp. as an occupation or profession; an author or journalist; 2) a clerk, scribe, or the like; 3) a person who commits his or her thoughts, ideas, etc., to writing: an expert letter writer; 4) (in a piece of writing) the author (used as a circumlocution for “I,” “me,” “my,” etc.): The writer wishes to state….; 5) a person who writes or is able to write: a writer in script. My goal is to be a writer as a defined in number 1.  It’s really hard to imagine getting to that point when it feels like a thousand things are competing for my time and my energy.  Every success guru will tell you that the only way to reach your goals is being single-minded and persevering to the end. My dilemma is that I am honestly more concerned about being a good wife, mother (sister, daughter, friend, youth leader, community member, etc.) and following God’s will than being a writer.  I be...

I am a very observant person- when I am intentional about it anyway.  For example, I saw two people wearing white socks with their thong flip flops today.  One was a teenage girl; one was an adult male.  I know people love their flip flops, but what lengths will they go to wear them year round?  Isn’t that a bit uncomfortable and inconvenient?  Who is going to be the first person to invent the mitten sock, with a place for the big toe, to be compatible with your most stylish flip flops? I also saw a cat chase a squirrel.  Cats definitely have an advantage over dogs in catching a squirrel.  They’re more stealthy and sneaky.  I think this cat would have caught the squirrel if it felt like climbing the tree.  Cats are also very particular about what they will and won’t do.  I also realized that when you start in the basement, the fourth floor is a lot more stairs than you expect. It took a friend to point out that the reason I was e...

I have severe myopia.  I’m very nearsighted.  I can’t see the numbers on my cell phone unless they’re inches from my face.  I always have an extra pair of contacts and an extra pair of glasses because if I don’t have one of the two, I’m practically helpless, even going from the bedroom to the bathroom. Some days I have spiritual myopia.  All I can see is the moment by moment frustrations of life:  the child who cannot find a matching pair of shoes, the other child who insists her field trip money be turned in today, the pants that aren’t dry after an hour in the dryer, the scratchy throat that won’t go away, the endless stream of tasks that interrupt what I try to get done at work, the late lunch break, the junk food dinner, the leaderless scout meeting, the mountain of laundry in the basement… Where’s God in all this?  Unfortunately the only prayers I managed today were, “help me Lord!” and a prayer of safety for a friend embarking on a cross country j...

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is what the Declaration of Independence designated as ”inalienable rights.” Somehow, over the past 200 plus years, people have taken this to mean that they have the right to expect happiness in life. As Malcolm Muggeridge, a 20th century British journalist and satirist, said, “There is something ridiculous and even quite indecent in an individual claiming to be happy… The pursuit of happiness… is without any question the most [foolish] which could possibly be undertaken. This lamentable phrase “the pursuit of happiness” is responsible for a good part of the ills and miseries of the modern world.” Ironically, the higher your expectations for happiness, the more likely you are to be disappointed, and less likely to be happy! You’ve met that individual who believes he or she deserves to be taken care of or made happy, whether that applies to government funding, parental support, or a significant other. These people are the most miserable in ...

It was one of those mornings.  I could not pull myself out of bed, then I could not pull myself away from the morning news.  My husband was very concerned with with the status of his tribe on his computer game.  My son interpreted “put your socks on” to mean “do a somersault over the chair.”  My daughter thought she had an abscessed tooth and was obsessed with the fact we had not turned the permission slips for the after school club on time. I didn’t even have time to shower.  I signed the permission slips, called my mom to provide transportation, and wrote a note for the bus driver.  I put my leather dress shoes on (which went really well with my plaid pajama pants), grabbed a bag of flavored rice cakes that would suffice for breakfast, and hurried my kids into the minivan. I drove to the school where my kids get on a school bus to another school.  We sat in the van with the heat on until the bus rounded the corner.  As I yanked open the van ...

I’ve always been the kind of person who is secretly harder on myself than anyone else could ever be.  I don’t talk about it because no one wants to hear someone beat up on themselves. I’m starting to learn that everything happens for a purpose, and all things happen in season.  Five years ago I was devastated that I was not given the opportunity to work in full time ministry.  A wise pastor suggested that then, when my children were 1 and 3, I had a different kind of ministry.  As a tried and true women’s libber, I had a hard time accepting that I could be called to such an ordinary, everyday job as motherhood.  As my children grow, I am learning to love and accept them for the wonderful people they are becoming.  I am seeing how I influence them, with good habits and not so good habits.  I can’t imagine a more noble calling than motherhood. Yet, I wish I could be supermom.  I wish I could pack nutritious lunches and walk to the bus stop eve...