Resurrection Expectation

Easter is over for this year,
having just passed,
but it always conjures up excitement in me.
I have an expectation that something marvelous,
unbelievable
and inherently mysterious
is about to happen.
And it always does.
The burning yellow orb of the sun
peeks above the horizon
reminding me I am alive!
Flowers throw open their petals with abandon shouting:
kiss me, sun!
Plants, presumed dead, gloriously reappear.
Resurrection is palpable.

Photos © Sondra Sula.

Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.

If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.

The Role of Flowers

Years ago I was “made to understand” that I would walk The Path of Flowers and I believe I have.
I now live in a place where something is always flowering.
Through any pain I experience there is also the beauty of blooms to cheer me.
Flowers are sent to those who are ill or suffering.
They are used for celebrations
or to honor those who have passed away.
The Lenten rose is named after a time in the Christian liturgical calendar that precedes Easter.
Many people are even named after flowers, my nieces and sister included.
Quaker George Fox famously said to walk cheerfully over the earth, answering that of God in everyone.
Flowers seem to “walk” everywhere, bringing joy to any who encounter them. Dare we do the same?

Photos © Sondra Sula.

Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.

If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.

The Secret

Psst. Over here. Let me tell you a secret.
It may startle you.
You are loved.
Not necessarily in a romantic way —
which often leaves damages —
but in an utterly open, unconditional, fully embracing way.
A love that ensures you belong.
That you’ve always belonged,
and will continue to belong — for all eternity.

Photos © Sondra Sula.

Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.

If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.

Should I Stop Struggling?

Gardening. It’s something I once did with relish.
But here, where the soil is pygmy-poor and hard as cement, it’s been a struggle.
I can’t seem to impose my will upon this bit of land.
Hmm. Reminds me of trying to thrust my will upon God. I want this, even though You are leading me to that.
The only plants that survive here were planted by someone else before we moved in.
Our previous homeowners grew up in Mendocino and knew the landscape.
They looked to nature as their guide.
Hmm. Perhaps I need to follow where I’m being led.
Plant what grows here.
Maybe then the struggle will end
and the unimpeded flow will begin.

Photos © Sondra Sula.

Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.

If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.

The Wabi-Sabi of Closeness

When I get close to someone or something, I can see both the beauty and the flaws—they are inextricably intertwined. As I approach a resplendent rhododendron bloom to spy on a fly, I see the flower’s iridescent petals are marred with tiny brown spots.

A lily-of-the-valley shrub that looks unblemished from afar reveals small imperfections on its waxy white bells when seen up close.

Curled pink tongues of grevillea have shooting spathes, but one is broken. Miniscule blooms arising from juicy, succulent leaves have dead gray matter scattered between them.

The edges of a coral lily are slightly ragged and display whitish dots of lost color. A busy bee collects pollen from fresh bursts of blooms—but others held upon the same panicle are withered.

Oh, there’s a flawless fuchsia camellia! No…one of its petals has been crushed. The white one is yellowing and puckered along its perimeter.

An oxalis and magnolia fare no better: perfection just out of reach.

Every flaw gives the blossom its individuality, otherwise each would look exactly the same. The “Wabi-sabi” in each of us—a kind of aesthetic of imperfection—attracts others just as much as our beauty does. Why not revel in every little bit of who we are? Surely God does.

All photos © Sondra Sula.

Grand Entrance to Spring

Tall stems of pussy willow and forsythia signified spring for most of my life. But I hadn’t seen either bush since I moved to the Mendocino coast. Then yesterday I was walking on a path to Glass Beach and on one side was a wide swath of pussy willows as far as I could see. Their white catkins shone in the sun. Some were even fringed with bright yellow pollen.

At the pussy willows’ feet, slender green stalks rose to shake fistfuls of bells at the sky, their silent song carried away by the fierce wind.

A California poppy hugged its rippled petals close, unwilling to open amid the commotion. I’ll wait to unfurl on a calmer day, I thought I heard the poppy say.

And yet, tucked in the grass nearby, a delicate seed head did not stir though it was ready to go with one mighty blow.

I could feel spring emerging with every step closer to the ocean. Sharp red pencils of reed grass poked through the sand. Soon their spindly shoots would be robust clumps claiming their own territory.

When I reached the ice plants with their happy star faces and wavy anemone-arm petals, I was sure spring had sprung. A season I thought I knew so well was suddenly novel. As I embrace both the familiar and the new, I become more whole.

All photos © Sondra Sula.

Half a Yard of Nature’s Fabric

Wistfully walking around the other half of our new yard, I am perplexed yet pleased at every turn. Perplexed because I’m full of questions: What is the name of that flower? Is it an annual or a perennial? Does it grow naturally or was it planted? Is it exotic or common? I am pleased because even the tiniest weed registers as gorgeous to my eye, and the flora has unabashedly presented itself for the visual “taking.”

Examining my own life, I realize there are times for pruning and pulling, and other times for observing and accepting. Akin to the wisdom of watching one’s yard for a year before digging or cutting, I must be keenly tuned in to a frequency of awareness without judgment as I settle into a fresh life.

I am seeking clues to my next steps. Do I let events evolve naturally or do I plot out my life garden’s design? Do I scatter seed to witness the embryonic emerging or do I make room for a mature plant?

I am still wandering my way through the property’s rich floral brocade and through my own spiritual tapestry. As time passes, I will become more familiar with my surroundings and my own life path. But there will always be surprises. Anticipating them is half the fun.

All photos © Sondra Sula.

One Person CAN Make a Difference

“Phlox with Henryii” by Sondra Sula

“Jesus in the Garden” by Sondra Sula

“Phlox with Bee” by Sondra Sula

I often think about how much difference one person can make in the world: Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa. But what about little ol’ me?

Then I glance out the window and see a plethora of phlox in my flower garden and realize that I can and do make a difference in the world.

Years ago I was mesmerized by a pale pink flower edged in dark pink at a local nursery and lifted the plant identification marker to read: phlox. I innocently planted it at the feet of Jesus—a piece of cement statuary lovingly transported from the Florida Keys to northern Illinois in the backseat of our Ford station wagon, and then hoisted into the backyard garden.

“Backlit” by Sondra Sula

“Striations” by Sondra Sula

Fast forward to today’s garden filled with hundreds of phlox of every hue between white and violet. The plants are so tall I can’t even see the crown of Jesus’ head, much less his feet. And the diversity in pattern is astounding thanks to the many insects involved in the cross-pollination process. All of this exuberance and vibrancy from one tiny plant.

As I stroll through this garden (perhaps struggle through the tangle is more apt) I’m aware that I am like that original pink picotee phlox. Nourished by the natural world—sun, sky, flora, fauna—and blessed by the light of Christ, my little Gratefulness Walks are spreading out beyond the borders of my mind into the tangible realm. Making one person’s life a little brighter spreads out to touch another and another until fresh gardens of joy lighten every dark place.

“Cross-Pollination at Work” 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