Amazing Grace

“Exquisitely Common” by Sondra Sula

“Color Riot” by Sondra Sula

I have been graced with a spirit of wonder, amazement, and awe at the incredible diversity within the natural world. All of today’s marvels are in a single square mile just beyond my backyard. Day in and day out, the ordinary transforms into the extraordinary when I simply pay attention to the flora and fauna around me.

How many times has a common wasp been swatted rather than observed? A leafhopper flicked off a T-shirt instead of welcomed as a riot of color and design? Does anyone notice the miniscule sweat bee as it roots around looking for sustenance?

Compound flowers are rarely studied as individual blossoms, but are instead seen as a blur of color or vague shape. Stopping to inspect these beauties allows one to witness the delicate intricacy of each petal, stamen, and pistil—each nuanced shade of white, pink, lavender, yellow.

“Wonders Abound” by Sondra Sula

And feathers! Do we notice feathers because we can’t fly and yearn to? Do they remind us of freedom, angels, possibility? The feather is masterfully wrought—built to repel water, insulate the body, catch the air currents just right. Yet every one is also a delight in pattern, hue and texture.

Take a walk outside—even bring a magnifying glass—and truly look at the first plant or insect you see. You might just feel the amazing grace of creation, too.

“Sweat Bee on Teasel” by Sondra Sula

A Place that Can’t Be Razed

“Backyard Delights” by Sondra Sula

“Cut” by Sondra Sula

Feeling low, I knew a walk along the ridge would elevate my mood, if only slightly. I was looking forward to being cheered by the summer flowers, many reaching up to my elbows. But when I turned the corner, all the vegetation along the ridge had been erratically mowed down leaving frayed stalks, muddy tractor tracks, and piles of desiccated brown plants.

The devastation echoed my feelings of late: crushed, torn up, gouged, wounded, flattened. But why? I am in good health, have a loving spouse, a roof over my head. I have plenty of food—perhaps too much as I’ve foolishly turned to it for comfort over the past few months.

When I returned home, I decided to check the flora in my own backyard. The first flower I saw, a yellow-throated red-violet daylily, held a curious Kelly green visitor. A katydid nymph? Its body was flat on top with tiny wings much shorter than its body. Powerful back legs were thick in the thigh and led to pure white “shins” capped off with pale brown gripping hooks. Long antennae sported stripes that gradually became longer towards the tips.

“Daylily and Thistle” by Sondra Sula

More daylilies dazzled with glimmering petals and bright, airbrushed hues. Even an errant thistle didn’t disappoint with its purple candle-like protrusions lit in pastel blue. All these wonderful discoveries revealed themselves when I looked inside the flower. Was there a lesson here?

I was trying to make myself feel better by going outward for inspiration, but perhaps what I needed to do was tap my own inner reserves. A voice inside told me nature would find a way to triumph over the devastation, and so will I. Though it was a reasonable voice, it was not the voice of reason. It was a voice beyond reason, in the thin place where intuition and God meet. A place that can’t be razed.

“Anther Anthem” by Sondra Sula

Cultivating Amazement

“Lilium Michiganense Surprise” by Sondra Sula

Today as I left the open meadows and entered into the darkened forest I was surrounded and attacked by hoards of voracious mosquitoes. The recent wet weeks have created what I believe to be a larger, more aggressive form of these puncture-savvy parasites. But it was worth the shooing, flicking, and flailing to see a spread of wild lilium michiganense tucked behind a stand of waterlogged tree trunks.

“Floral Pumpkins” by Sondra Sula

Ten years ago I had tried to cultivate these lilies in my garden. I was taken by their recurved pumpkin petals, deep red spots, and splashes of curry yellow. The anthers hang down like a carousel of golden corndogs, and the stigma peeks out like a single eye. But no matter how much I babied the bulbs, I could not get these beauties to grow, save one weak bloom that never returned. I concluded that the environment was simply wrong and I couldn’t force them to naturalize in my garden.

Imagine my surprise three years ago when I saw a single beam of light penetrating through the forest canopy and shining on an orange lily. Could it be? How was this possible? As I tiptoed on tiny tufts of grass protruding from a swamp of standing water, I made it to the prize and gently flipped up the flower to reveal its telltale spots.

I had to chuckle. God must be teaching me a lesson: the cultivation of amazement. Had the lily bloomed in my garden it would not have been half as precious as it was now—rogue transplant secretly flowering in the forest.

Each year I have watched the lilies multiply and to date there are about fifteen plants. My wonder never ceases as I pass by their slender, nodding stems trembling with each burst of wind, their jiggling blooms brightening the brown and green landscape.

Today I saw many other awe-inspiring sights: a bee culling pollen from sweet clover, two gray feathers balanced on a tree stump, the pointy base of a soft-topped thistle. These are all fascinating because of the cultivation of amazement God has been teaching me day after day.

“Cultivating Amazement: Bee, Feathers, Thistle” by Sondra Sula