Dandelions

This week was the warmest week of spring thus far and it made everything nature-y stand out and yell for me to appreciate it.  As I drove up my street, I noticed how vibrant the green was on all of my neighbors' yards as the sun bounced off of the blades of grass.

And scattered throughout the lawns, in no particular sort of order, were dandelions.  Crayola's lemon yellow colored dandelions.  Some yards had a lot and others had a few, but they were everywhere.

Weeds.  That's what my parents told me they were when I was little.  And that's what the science textbooks claimed when I got older.

But these weeds aren't like the annoying green ones that grow in the garden.  These weeds are beautiful.  These weeds add spice to a neighborhood that otherwise would look bland and homogenous and well...

...suburban.

These weeds shouted, "Spring is here!  Open the car windows!  Lay on your porch!  Go on an adventure!"

Shouts of life.

Lemon yellow life.

These are the weeds that I would pluck at the end of their lives as a child.  When their yellow glow turned to powdery white.  When their names changed from dandelions to "wishies."  When I would blow the white seeds as I twirled in the grass.

And almost as if by magic, without the help of pollination, these scattered seeds would produce new dandelions.  Remarkable, really.

Sometimes the messy weeds add Life to our lives.  Sometimes the annoyances that disrupt our otherwise perfectly trimmed lawns add character and individuality.

Sometimes the weeds are what make us into works of art.  And remind us that in order to scatter them requires a deep breath and a word of prayer and the Lord's hand to grow them in the spot they land.

Maybe reflecting on these sprouts of Life in our lives--sprouts that we could easily disregard as weeds--remind us of the work God's done in us.

So here I am, attempting to learn to embrace the weeds.