Last fall, I planted daffodils. I carefully dug holes to the proper depth and added a little richer soil than the red clay in most of the yard. I put them in, covered them up and thought of the joy they would be in the spring, bursting with color before anything else. I tried to forget about them, but I simply could not. I watered them. I made sure no one walked on them. Even with no evidence of how they were doing, I thought of them enduring the cold winter safely in the ground in order to be ready for spring.
Now it is early January. The winter weather has been strange, it was cold earlier than usual, but before Christmas, and especially after it has been unusually warm - even for the south. But it is still early January and the coldest is yet to come. I know that. I see the calendar and pay attention to weather reports.
Unfortunately, as I decided to do a little yard sprucing-up recently I noticed that the little bulbs I had tended were now popping up through the ground with bright green leaves shooting high. Daffodils are early bloomers and sturdy plants, but early January is still before their proper time.
"No, little daffodils!" I wanted to tell them, "It's not time yet, there are still many frosts to come, maybe snow. It will be cold. Stay hidden and safe!" But they can't understand my message. So I brushed a little of the remaining pine needles over them and hope they brave through. I sigh and think how it would have been easier for them to wait at least a month or so to start showing their new leaves.
But I identify with my early daffodils wanting to declare a new season and move ahead. They took cues from the weather; it seemed warm for a time. I take cues from my environment as well. When I want a season of learning or a season of testing or a season of growing to be over, I look for any clue that I can claim as a sign that it is time to move on. And sometimes it's just too early.
For the last year or so I have spent untold time struggling with wanting security and wanting the days of not knowing my career path to end. God has taught me many things along the way and has always been faithful to provide everything I've needed and more, but still the training to trust Him has seemed long. Looking back, I think how precious that time has been, valuable more than wealth. But every so often during that time, I declared that the season must be over and surely it was time for me to move on. When I heard of a job or continued education that sounded interesting to me, I saw glimmers of sunshine and felt the warmth of spring, or what I thought was spring since I was tired of my personal winter. I saw others with less education and experience finding their own careers. Not wanting to miss any opportunities, I tried my hardest to send out my own leaves. I immersed myself in each new direction and imagined myself there. If believing or hoping for good changes was all that is needed for them to happen, I would be on one of those paths now.
Yet, God knew I needed to wait, to sit still for a "winter" rather than always trying to bloom. When I stuck a leaf out, He probably sighed as I did with my daffodils and lovingly protected me from storms ahead. But He didn't turn January into Spring. He has his own plans for me and has designed my life to follow order, which includes Springs and Summers, but also Autumns and Winters. Each time I try to jump ahead of that timetable uses energy and puts me at risk of future storms.
Bulbs for some flowers need to be planted in Autumn so that they have a winter to build a complete root system. When spring finally comes, they are established and ready to grow. So, for now, I am being aware of my root system (my character, habits, skills, attitudes, knowledge base) and letting the time to grow up and out come in due season.
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