Thursday, June 30, 2011

{My petunias after the microburst}

Last night a microburst ripped through our cul-de-sac. It took about a minute-and-a-half for the finger of God to tear a hole in our street. The entire neighborhood converged to survey the damage. There were some broken tree limbs, missing lawn ornaments and a few loose shingles. My neighbor's trampoline ended up wrapped around a flagpole. It could have been so much worse, at least everybody was okay.

We were all grateful but sad for the neighbor girls. The trampoline is their most favorite possession in the entire world. They practically live on it. And even though it is just a trampoline, they've had some struggles this spring and a ruined tramp' felt like the last straw on the camel's back.

Sometimes I wonder why we assume we have any control in this world at all. Life can change so fast. As cheesy at it may sound, life is a lot like being on a trampoline. One second you're up, the next you're down and then you're spiraling through the air in a cyclone.

But as devastating as yesterday may have seemed. It was filled with small miracles. A secret angel slipped over to the neighbor's house and with some spare parts and springs from another airborne casualty he made it all better. I heart secret angels!

Tonight the air smells of the rain soaked desert, crisp with sage and russian olives, which is the best fragrance in the entire world! As I clear the dead fall out of my flowerbeds. I find another small miracle: blossoms on my mock orange. I planted the shrub six years ago. Not once has it ever bloomed. But tonight it's bursting, bringing new sweetness to the summer cocktail.

The Norse God and I have adopted a saying, "not all days will be like today." It's meant for the hard days when we don't think we can take anymore to remind us that the pain won't last forever. But it works on the good days too. Life brings microbursts and flowers, sometimes in the same storm. Take it all in. You never know how long it's all going to last.

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. I'm still learning to be okay with this part of it. Here's hoping for less rain and more flowers.

1 comment:

John Bradfield said...

We have no real control, except over the way we react to the storms and blessings of life. Choosing to see the citrus blossoms after the microburst, and reaching out to those who lost more make life wonderful.

We had a microburst just a few days ago, but we only lost one branch from a maple tree and half a rose bush. Not bad.