一朵花裏的世界 The World in a Flower
佚名/Anonymous
Envision a rose. Can you see the strong green stem laced with a few thorns that were carefully placed leading up to the blossom like a staircase or rungs on a ladder? Or how about the soft, silky, velvet petals varying in colors and sizes that gently kiss our noses or lovingly brush our cheeks as we hold them close? And who can forget the unique sweet fragrance of a healthy, well-maintained and well-groomed rose?
Like you, I started, as a seed long ago. Even a seed somehow must take shape. As each year passed I grew stronger, better rounded, and more evenly distributed, yet not ready to be planted. As a seed I have had to learn valuable lessons in the art of patience. An art, I say, that is well worth its weight in soil. As I busied myself strengthening my seed and practicing patience, knowing that at any given moment I would be planted, I grew by leaps and bounds! It is amazing what can take place in a seed over time. Without even realizing it, without a specific time to pin point and without warning, I was planted.
My seed took root in the deep dark nurturing soil, branching out and securing a base. Long and wide my roots expanded in preparation for a stem. Hurriedly, I wanted to assemble my stem because it would soon lead to my rose. Again patience reared its head, this time was a little easier for me to accept. As if reacquainted with an old and comfortable friend, I again learned how to embrace patience. As I did, I unknowingly began to grow and my stem began to rise. As my stern grew, I produced a thorn. A harsh and hard thorn grew, one that would not be dismissed or overlooked. The thorn was not only unbearable, but also seemingly grew slow in full materialization. Why? Why would I have a thorn? No good would ever come of this. It was unfair, hard, and unwarranted. I cried continuously.
I wore my emerging thorn for all to see. As time passed, I learned to divert other's attention from the unsightly thorn to rose to come. That is where I'd set my sights and that was where I would be. My tears turned out to be blessings as my stem was always well watered. Thankfully I had worked past my thorn and my stem continued to grow. I was growing and getting closer and again had to stop, for another thorn had emerged. Again, the pain was unbearable, unjust, and seemingly unfair. But then I noticed something. The past thorn, if I stood on it at just the right angle, would position and equip me with the footing to step beyond the new thorn and I would continue grow. And so process goes—growth, thorn, another step, growth, thorn, and another step until finally I was a bud.