A few weeks ago the swake was a bone-dry, parched, crispy place. We felt like we were living in a tinderbox. The grass was not growing. It crunched under your feet when you walked through the bush. The reeds in the swake were a dead brown color and the water level had dropped alarmingly. We wondered how the families of waterfowl would survive even as the smoke from the massive Fort McMurray fire drifted hundreds of miles southwest forcing us to close the windows.
Then one day it rained. Within hours the color of the swake began to change from that lifeless brown to a deep purple. It rained again and the grass started to grow with the abandon of a bamboo grove. The sunshine and the rain took turns, appearing nearly every day as if in a majestic choreograph plea calling the swake into a glorious response. Wild strawberries unfolded their delicate white flowers along the lane promising the sweetness of a tiny fruit. Even the tidy rows of carrots in the square foot garden joined in, poking their brilliant ferny leaves through the soil.
It was wonderful to watch it happen, but the rain kept coming. Everyday the clouds have gathered at the edge of the horizon. The air has become muggy. A shard of lightening has split the sky as the thunder boomed and the rain began again. Every day. The reeds in the swake have nearly all turned green. Water is visible once again in the swake and in the ponds, and we are considering investing in a rowboat as we watch the water stream down the driveway.
My surprise is quite simply that I have spent an inordinate amount of energy worrying about the weather, which I can't control at all. What I need to do is be willing to be aware and enjoy what ever the weather brings. I need to relinquish the ridiculous notion that by worrying about the weather, I can change it a bit. There are other parts of my life that lesson could apply to, and it is a reminder to put my energy into making wise decisions instead of worrying.
Worrying is an energy vampire. When we worry our spirits are subject to a constant energy drain just like the energy vampires sucking you dry. Our energy seeps out of us, sometimes in a minute trickle that we scarcely notice and other times with a voracity that leaves us weak-kneed. We can choose to unplug that connection to our spirits and redirect our energy to things that build us and others up. So the next time I find myself looking out at the torrents of rain and fretting about the rate the grass is growing, I will remind myself that worrying saps my spirit and takes me off course. I want to stay on course. How about you?
Then one day it rained. Within hours the color of the swake began to change from that lifeless brown to a deep purple. It rained again and the grass started to grow with the abandon of a bamboo grove. The sunshine and the rain took turns, appearing nearly every day as if in a majestic choreograph plea calling the swake into a glorious response. Wild strawberries unfolded their delicate white flowers along the lane promising the sweetness of a tiny fruit. Even the tidy rows of carrots in the square foot garden joined in, poking their brilliant ferny leaves through the soil.
My surprise is quite simply that I have spent an inordinate amount of energy worrying about the weather, which I can't control at all. What I need to do is be willing to be aware and enjoy what ever the weather brings. I need to relinquish the ridiculous notion that by worrying about the weather, I can change it a bit. There are other parts of my life that lesson could apply to, and it is a reminder to put my energy into making wise decisions instead of worrying.
Worrying is an energy vampire. When we worry our spirits are subject to a constant energy drain just like the energy vampires sucking you dry. Our energy seeps out of us, sometimes in a minute trickle that we scarcely notice and other times with a voracity that leaves us weak-kneed. We can choose to unplug that connection to our spirits and redirect our energy to things that build us and others up. So the next time I find myself looking out at the torrents of rain and fretting about the rate the grass is growing, I will remind myself that worrying saps my spirit and takes me off course. I want to stay on course. How about you?
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