Two Moments

WANT

At the invitation of a  friend, I am on Johnson Trail to photograph Virginia Bluebells. Those splashes of blue draw the sun down to them, right down through budding trees and into morning shadows. They could have been an inspiration for Monet.

I so want to unwrap their beauty and share it in a photograph.

But, for the second year in a row, I am stymied. No matter what I see in my mind’s eye, a quick glance at the viewfinder is proof that I still haven’t figured out how to photograph fields of bluebells.   I try several techniques to compensate for the wide range of light, but none of them work. I mentally check all the “rules” for composition and can’t find one that fits.  I move two wide steps to the left, four steps forward. I kneel for a low angle. I stand on tip-toe for a different perspective. But, the result is always the same: flat and messy and unfocused.

I realize I am standing with one hand fisted on my hip, the other gesturing with my camera. I’m frowning and complaining – at a glorious patch of flowers! 

All I see is a problem to solve.  And, I want to solve it – today.

I. Want.

I suddenly see myself for what I am: a petulant child stamping her foot in a cloud of bright wrapping paper, glowering at a mound of presents, and whining, “But I didn’t get the one I wanted!” 

In that moment, I feel God’s whisper: Isn’t your being here enough? This beauty, this friend, this morning… isn’t all of this gift enough?  Look around you, child.

It is, indeed, enough. More than enough.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I stand quietly and allow the beauty of the morning to wash over me, to wash away my grasping. Bluebells wink in dappled sunlight and hum with bees.  Birds call to one another high overhead from trees that line the trail and climb the bluff. The spicy scent of sun-warmed earth mixes with the cool tang of limestone quarries.

I inhale the beauty and exhale my thanks for the gentleness of God’s redirection and forgiving love.

WONDER

Around a bend, some yellow celandine poppies join a mass of bluebells in a dance through the gaps between boulders and trees and right up the side of the bluff.  Those colors!

I look down and wonder about the pink in one cluster of bluebells at the edge of the path. Ahhh… I smile and kneel to unwrap the pink-bud-sweetness of baby bluebells. A bee surprises me when he drops in for a drink from the very flower I’m focused on, and I laugh out loud. 

As I ease back to my feet and stretch out the kinks, I hear someone call, “Big dog behind you! Don’t be afraid!” I turn. A huge dog with a smile to match and a tail just as happy trots up. I scratch Sarge’s chest and accept some thank-you kisses before we both move on. I wonder how many others he will bless with his smile today.

Next, a Prairie Trillium beckons from the path’s edge to my left.

And, I wonder…

I wonder why the flower is called a Prairie Trillium when it is clearly growing in the woods. I wonder if Trillium means “three” since both the petals and the leaves are in threes.

I wonder what those deep maroon petals look like from their height instead of from mine.

I drop to the ground and fold into a tripod of sorts with both elbows propped on my legs. I lean far to the left to get even closer to the ground, and what I see – at that angle, in that light – makes my heart sing. 

Only from this posture of wonder could I have seen a wildflower that looks for all the world like it is lifting its hands in praise of its Creator.

Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it. Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing for joy. Psalm 96:11-12 (NIV)

Today, may we find even just a moment to put aside our wants and assume the posture of wonder. And, may we join the heavens and earth, the fields and forests, in their songs of joy to the glory of God.

Thank You, Lord.   Amen and amen.