Life was beautiful … until I turned eight. That summer my family moved from our home in the woods of Oregon’s Coastal Range where the evergreens and wildflowers grew naturally in lavish abundance. We moved to southeastern Washington where the desert was being divided into eighty-acre plots and represented as farmland.
Dad, Mom, my older sister, my older brother, my baby sister, and I left a home with creature comforts … like running water. We moved into an Army-surplus tent. We left our friends and ended up where we didn’t know a soul. We left a stable family income and tried to farm—on land that had never grown anything but sagebrush, cheatgrass, and an occasional cactus; on desert that, as far as I could see, had never supported any life other than scorpions, black widow spiders, and rattlesnakes.
A favorite family activity—back home—had been to walk in the woods, exploring for blossoms or bugs, creeks or creatures. No sense walking the tabletop of the new place—we could see farther than we could walk. The desert seemed a grand argument for the-earth-is-flat theory.
Only Dad relished the new experience—he’d wanted to farm since, as a teen, his parents allowed him to leave their Los Angeles home to finish growing up on his grandparent’s farm in the sunny flatland of southern Idaho. Our family move was his adventure. For the rest of us, the move seemed like the end of beauty, the end of joy. We moped around, wishing we’d wake from our nightmare.
One afternoon I wandered near the tent, head down, watching to avoid any cactus spines in my ankles—even the cacti didn’t grow very tall. I don’t know how long I meandered aimlessly midst the cheatgrass, but suddenly color caught my eye. I stopped. There, inches above the desert floor, deep blue blossoms stretched toward the sun. I knelt, examining my find.
A cluster of three small blossoms, as deep a blue as royal robes, stretched from one short stem. A spot of gold hid in the deepest recess of each flower. The throat shone purple, as deep and rich a color as the blue it melded into.
I squatted, marveling at the burst of beauty. As I gazed at the gorgeous flower, my misery faded.
Eventually, I stood again. Loathe to leave, I continued to admire the blossoms. As surprisingly as the color had caught my view, a conclusion welled up in my heart—a conclusion I’ve carried with me.
Over the years, life has dragged me through some other rough spots. Sometimes all I had was dogged determination to shovel through the muck. But even now, when I start to fall prey to despair, those royal blue, gold, and purple flowers shine in my memory like a beam through the decades. And I remember my childhood conclusion—There’s beauty everywhere. Some places you just have to look a lot harder!
Question:
If you’re in a tough spot now (or have been in the past), look for a touch of beauty. What positive thing did you find?
