Every year for my birthday I ask for an amaryllis bulb. An amaryllis is known not only for it's outrageously gorgeous bloom at the end of a long stalk but also for how quickly the stalk grows. Watching the stalk is probably my favorite part of having an amaryllis as sometimes it seems as though it is literally growing in front of my eyes. In terms of a plant that is able to provide almost instant gratification of growth from a bulb to bloom it's really difficult to beat an amaryllis. Until this year.
I read the directions. And followed them. I'm not noted for reading and following directions and so when I actually put forth that kind of energy my expectation of gratification only intensifies - there's nothing like a sense of virtuousness to up the ante of expected reward! Anyway, I did my part - virtuously I might add - and it did not do it's part. When I say 'do it's part' what I really mean is that it did not immediately fulfill my expectations, which is to say that nothing happened. Nothing at all - no little green shoot popping out of the bulb - nothing. Each morning I peered at it, each evening I came home from work and peered again - I suppose figuring that if I had been working it could have at least put forth a bit of effort. Nothing. I even took to rubbing my finger across the top edge thinking maybe my eyes weren't seeing what was supposed to be happening. Nothing. Day after day, nada. I checked the soil's dampness. I checked the amount of light it was getting where I had placed the really pretty red pot. At least the pretty pot had a bit of cheer.
I began thinking of throwing it away {but keeping the pretty pot} because I remembered a shelf of amaryllis kits I had seen for sale and some of them actually had stalks sneaking out of the packaging. No care of those bulbs had been provided, they were just growing already - I deserved one of those.
The pretty pot sits where my altar candles are and so as I was lighting the candles of thanksgiving the other morning I became aware of my bulb - which had remained just a bulb - and my annoyance began to simmer and I felt the words have patience flow through me. It was the phrasing of the words that got my attention: "have" patience rather than the admonition I had heard most of my life, 'be' patience. Reflecting on the word 'have' I sat down and pulled out my dictionary.
Looking up words in the dictionary and then creating word 'pictures' by playing with aspects of the definition and its defining words is not only what some might call a hobby of mine, but it's actually what I do as a clarifying activity for understanding. "Have" means to own and once owned, to be able to put to use. So what I was hearing was to put to use my 'patience' ability. Patience is an emotionally 'loaded' word because I'm not alone in having heard it for much of my life as something to 'be' which indicating something I was clearly lacking at that time. Backing off from my emotional response by creating a word picture of it's various definitions I made an interesting discovery: the core meaning of patience is a kind of bravery.
Patience can be perceived as bravery because having patience means the ability to restrain oneself from losing control due to emotion. Patient as a quality, indicates having diligence in putting forth effort and care. Patience therefore means to use ones the quality restraint to remain within bounds while caring and putting forth effort. As I played creating my word picture I had the funniest experience of hearing my father's famous phrase: stop and think. Stop and think is in many ways what having patience is all about.
When I stopped and thought about my bulb what I realized was that 'restraining' myself meant to refocus. Refocus on the bulb rather than what I wanted from the bulb. Really, the point of growing an amaryllis is IT not me. Dah!! Have patience Mary, the bulb is doing what it needs to do: it's absorbing the moisture from the soil and absorbing the warmth of the sun and when it has what it needs of those, what is in the bulb will be activated. Oh yeah, it's about what the bulb is doing, not just what I want. My part is simply to - another part of the definition of patience - provide the effort and care: water and position for sunlight, and then allow it - trust - that it will grow in it's time.
And it is growing. A little green 'tongue' is peeking out of the papery brown edge of the bulb and in time the tongue will become a stalk.
As I worked with my word picture about patience and starred at my brown bulb, the imagery of 'life' growth expanded and I was aware of how amaryllis bulbs and parts of myself are so very similar: there are parts of me that like the kits I saw in the store with stalks sneaking through the top of their package seem to grow easily - as though not much can restrain their becoming. But the bulb I have this year has reminded me that there are other parts of self that require patience: diligence of effort and care, the restraint of refocusing and the bravery of faith to stay: to not give up or run away or give into the emotions of frustration and despair.
I am reminded of that old, old saying faith is belief in things not yet seen. Within the bulb IS the stalk. Within my self IS the Spirit activating parts of me not yet seen. Have patience and in time there will be a glorious bloom atop a stalk that was once a simple brown bulb: Thank you Spirit for the reminder to use what I have, thanks Dad for reminding me to stop and think.
No comments:
Post a Comment