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.
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.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 