weeding for joy

Her nearly three-year old toddler legs gain speed as she grazes under hands holding purses, coffee cups and bulletins. Her wispy hair is all I can see as she impatiently bobs up and down while waiting for the church glass-paned doors to swing open.

I grin to myself as I recall my promise that she could stop to pick the flowers after church. And while she may forget to wash her hands before meals, say please and thank you, or the number that comes after 12, she most certainly won't forget about the yellow flowers. To her, they are the prettiest flowers and she wants to pick them for her mommy.

I follow her as she darts across the sleepy grass, her little blue shoes imprinting the green carpet. She has turned her back to the rest of the world, intent on finding a fistful of flowers to take home.

Her tiny fingers excitedly pluck the sun-kissed treasures as she merrily congratulates herself on finding the best ones.

My watch summons my attention as my wrist unconsciously holds itself to my gaze. "Come on sweetie, it's time to go," I urge her. "Mommy, two more minutes," she negotiates over her shoulder. (She comes by that phrase honestly, especially when she wants to play and I'm knee-deep in my own matters.) I shift my weight and counter, "one more minute and then we have to go."

Her eyes are still gleaming as she perches on the kitchen counter to select her favourite cup to display her bouquets. She now stands watch over her collection, carefully inspecting each dandelion before gingerly placing it into her water-filled cup. She couldn't be happier.

I watch her closely and wonder - when did my perspective change? Her innocent eyes see joy, while my eyes see weeds. She seeks to embrace, I seek to erase.
How could I have it so backwards? Why do I insist on seeing weeds when there is so much joy blooming all around me?


I need to change my viewpoint. Maybe joy really can be as simple as a hand-picked dandelion....