This was the state of my yard only about a week ago — an inch and a half of lovely, white snow. Of course, the truth is April snow is almost never considered lovely—unlike December snow when everyone welcomes wintry weather with songs like White Christmas or Winter Wonderland. Only one thing makes April snow bearable: it rarely lasts.
When I took the picture of my snow-laden daffodils I recall thinking how out of their element they seemed. Their very yellow screams spring and sunshine. It doesn’t seem as though they should be able to survive temperatures cold enough for snow, does it?
I remember one year I planted my annuals a little too early, having been fooled into believing winter was behind us because of a string of warm days. But a May frost killed nearly all of my pretty begonias and impatiens. They truly were out of their element. A bit like Paul Newman in The Silver Chalice (a movie I’d been lucky enough never to have seen until this weekend), or birds that somehow find their way inside shopping malls. Or me on a dance floor. Or aboard a ship. Or, any more, in a tent. (I guess my element is more limited as I age. Roller coasters seem to be off limits to me now that I’m older, too, but I’m digressing.)
Here’s my daffodils again. This picture was taken a few days later, once the sun finally returned and we bid even the snow hiding in chilly shadows a happy adieu. Other than a few flowers still bending low, you’d never know most of them shivered under the white stuff only hours before.
I knew not to worry about my daffodils, really, because they come up every year under God’s direction. He knows which plants can handle overlapping seasons. And that, of course, reminded me that certain flowers—daffodils and pansies, for example—are a lot tougher than they look, at least with the cold. The boundary of their element might be wider than you’d think with a glance.
I don’t know why it’s considered an insult to call someone a pansy, since like my daffodils they’re tough little buggers. I think when I was younger I was a bit closer to daffodils and pansies than I am these days, with age and a desire for comfort narrowing my boundaries.
I guess it’s wise to know our element and recognize when we’re not in it anymore. Kind of like Dorothy when she realized she wasn’t in Kansas any more. But when we do leave our element, because sometimes we must, we can always remind ourselves of the daffodils. Sometimes God knows our boundaries better than we do. And didn’t He leave His element when He came down here from Heaven to cavort with tax collectors and lepers, and headed for the cross?
Next time I’m feeling out of my element, I think I’ll remind myself I can surely be as tough as my daffodils.
I have a whole border full of early jonquils that were absolutely flattened by the snow. A week later they were all upright again, and in flower. God just makes some flowers tougher than others.
I think that writers have to be daffodils, not impatiens. (Although impatiens are stubborn: I have one that seeded itself into an orchid pot and refuses to die.) We have to have that same ability to withstand being transported outside our normal climate, and keep flowering no matter what the weather's like. I will remember this metaphor in the future!
I love your analogies! Thank you once again for reminding us that God definitely knows our boundaries, clearly better than we know our own. It IS true, He never gives us (or our lovely flowers) more than we can handle. And when it does take us out of our comfort zone, He is there to help us through whatever we are dealing with.
So glad the post was a blessing! I'm happy to report that my daffodils are looking better than ever – even the ones that took longer to stand straight up are now back to their full height, looking happier than ever with temps in the 50s.