Counting Daffodils

Years ago I led a Quiet Day for a parish in central Massachusetts.  It was that late-winter-early-spring time when the earliest blossoms were pushing through the last patches of snow stilll left under the trees.  

As the day went on, I would give a talk to the group, then invite them into a time of silence during which we could stay in the parish hall, or find a side room to sit in, or walk about the grounds of the church.  

I preferred to spend those times outdoors, and in slowly walking about the grounds I was delighted to discover a small patch of very young daffodils just popped up and beginning to blossom.  I stood there, marveling at God's grace and glory in that bright spot of yellow tucked in the shade, brave enough to challenge the patch of snow that surrounded it.

I went over to the daffodils two or three times over the course of the day, each time reaching my heart out to those fragile and delicate promises of spring.  On my last walk over to the daffodils, late in the afternoon, I just happened to turn my head to the right, to glance in a direction I hadn't looked before.  And there I was astounded to see a field of daffodils, many times larger than the tiny patch I'd been reveling in all day.  The larger cluster had clearly been there all along - they were at least as well developed as the smaller group, and standing proudly out in the sun, no snow to hold them back!

While I was delighted to find them, I was also somewhat chagrined.  How had I missed them, so close to the spot where I'd been standing so many times that day?  And then, of course, how often had I missed other things, bigger things, abundant blessings that God had positioned just out of my sight, but there for me to enjoy had I only turned my attention just a tiny bit?  

How often have I allowed myself to be satisfied with a little bit of happiness, a hint of joy, a sliver of light, when there is more all around that I could reach for, if I dared?  I think of those daffodils from time to time, hoping that I'm not still settling for slivers when there is abundance to be had.  I suspect it's still a pattern for me, since I don't feel as though my life is overflowing with abundant joy, at least not on most days.  There is certainly happiness, and contentment, and those are not to be despised, but I suspect there is yet more to be seen, and felt, and known, of God's joy.  I will seek.