bluebells, image by Robin Greenwood, on Pixabay
Let Me Be a Bluebell
When I was young, I thought I was hot stuff. See, after my father passed away, my mother
married a man with plenty of money who took pleasure in flaunting his wealth. Thus, I grew up in a lavish home, went to the best schools, traveled around Europe, had season passes to the local theatres, and a closet filled with fancy clothes. I was smart, cute, and cultured. And a total pain in the bum.
Looking back, I’m embarrassed by my privilege and, most especially, by the way I wore it.
I honestly thought I was some sort of princess. That isn’t to say I didn’t work hard: got top grades, volunteered after school each weekday, went to church, and was rewarded with further opportunities to grow. Yet, I thought it was all my own doing. I didn’t realize what
a large role my circumstances played in my success.
But, like so many things in life, my good fortune turned out to be fleeting. When I was in my very early twenties, my son’s father disappeared as soon as he learned I was expecting.
My mother wanted me to have an abortion, but that was something I simply could not do.
I was in love with my son the moment I discovered God gifted him to me. But what I’d like
to share with you is not a pro-life agenda. What I want to share is the importance of gratitude.
As someone fully enmeshed in the international haiku community, I see dozens of posts each day on social media by poets boasting of their accomplishments. Yes, I understand
that we, as writers, need to promote our work. Yet, what I see lacking is humility and an awareness of grace.
Those who are successful in virtually any endeavor likely encountered a bit of serendipity
that allowed them to embark upon it, whether it be a quality education to learn how to do
whatever they do, access to the internet to keep them connected, money for supplies,
time to carry out their work, or good health that enables them for the task. I think of a legendary poet and good friend who simply does not have the energy to write because
of the progression of his COPD. Or even my birth father, the remarkable man who passed when I was still in grade school, whose brilliant mind was taken from him after the brain tumor was removed.
Now that my son is grown and I’m more established, I have time to devote to my craft,
food to nourish me, a comfortable home within which to write, decent health, and a
husband who supports and encourages me. I don’t take any of these for granted, not
only because I am aware that they are blessings but because, again, circumstances
are fleeting.
My “accomplishments” say very little about me. Rather, they speak to the innumerable
gifts of grace I’ve been given. Some view this perspective as downplaying individual achievement. Not at all! But, the way I see it, we do absolutely nothing on our own. We
have been helped by our teachers, farmers who grow our food, general practitioners, friends and colleagues who believe in us, and, yes, the benevolence that comes from
the Source.
Oftentimes, it is during challenging periods that we lean into our devotion. But I’d like to
think that humility can blossom just as the bluebells do in spring, when everything is lush
and bright. In my experience, there’s not a single one that doesn’t have its head bowed, and they’re all the lovelier for it.
bluebells, image by Michael Gaida, on Pixabay, modified
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Kelly Moyer can often be found wandering
the mountains of North Carolina, where
she resides with her husband and two
philosopher kittens, Simone and Jean-Paul.
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