Walking on Water

When my husband, a friend and I arrived at Myakka River State Park in Florida, the ground was wet. A torrential downpour the night before, combined with a myriad of recent rains, had created moist, spongy walkways where there had once been dry, crackling palm leaves. At the visitor center we were informed that every trail was flooded.

With only one pair of sneakers, I wasn’t willing to destroy them for a walk, and neither were my cohorts. We reasoned that portions of the trails must be dry enough to walk on, and we would simply turn around each time we came to an impasse.

We didn’t expect to come to these uncrossable areas in the first hundred yards, and yet that’s what happened on the first few trails. But we finally hit upon a path that allowed us to go further into the Spanish moss-draped woods.

We enjoyed poking around the detritus, finding fabulously colored fungi, lichen and tiny flowers. Latticed saw palmetto trunks provided climbing pillars for vines, and their fallen leaves littered the forest floor with beige accordion fans—the perfect perch for sunning lizards and snakes.

After walking for a while, we came to an area of the path that was flooded. Other hikers had placed various collected debris over the area in an attempt to make it passable. We did our part, searching for fallen palm leaves, shed bark, sticks—anything to add to the precarious “bridge.”

As I tiptoed my way across, the water seeped up the walls of my sneakers, but never reached the upper edge. I felt like I was walking on water, being held up by the community of those who trod the path before me. The twigs and leaves they gathered may have seemed like a small contribution at the time, but when combined with the offerings of others, became a bridge.

Everything we do matters, even the little things—like making the impassable passable.

All photos © Sondra Sula.

Why Bother?

“Sowthistle, Prairie Dock, Mullein” by Sondra Sula

These days I’ve been waking up and asking myself: why bother? Am I doing anything that’s actually contributing to the world? Does my life matter if I only touch a handful of people? Is my mere existence enough?

Whenever I ask these questions, God is quick to answer (if I bother to listen) that simply existing is plenty. I’m shown this over and over in nature. Do I ask a flower why it bothers to bloom? Do I demand it give me a reason for its existence? Yet when I behold its gracious petals, complex textures, and surprising colors I am stunned into silent worship. Am I not as precious as a flower, here today and gone tomorrow?

I decide I need a Gratefulness Walk. In less than an hour I pass five fabulous flowers that capture my attention and give me hope to meet the morning.

“Back-to-Back Sharing” by Sondra Sula

The first is a common sowthistle, its brilliant, shaggy petals radiating out like a glorious sun. Within the blossom’s central curly threads, a metallic green sweat bee is curving its body to glean what is necessary for its own absolutely worthwhile existence.

I then encounter the slender, fast-growing stalks of the prairie dock, already towering over the tall grasses. Their bulbous green, alien-like globules create expectations of bizarre-looking blooms, but the flowers are quite ordinary, mimicking yellow daisies. God already knows what’s wrapped up in my “package” and so there’s no room for disappointment as I bloom.

Moving farther down the path, a furry mullein catches my eye, and as I peer closer, I note its petals are subtly veined, like my skin. The entire lemon-hued cup is really one piece, and the sense that the petals are separated is only an illusion—a perfect illustration of my connection to God.

What’s this? From afar I see only a golden spray of petals, but as I venture closer, a bouquet of tiny blooms forms the center of this pale-leaved sunflower. A hoverfly, and a leaf-legged bug that hints at transformer capabilities, stand back-to-back willing to share their prize. I learn from their wisdom.

Before my walk ends, I spy an Echinacea pushing its prickly central whorl outward while its pale purple petals arc back as if pressed by wind. A minuscule particle of yellow pollen contrasts against the maroon and emerald spikes, drawing me in. Sometimes revealing the tiniest part of oneself is enough to offer to the world.

“Echinacea Pushing Forward” by Sondra Sula