The lone cosmos in my flower garden ran out of oomph this year. It came up by seed, and I moved it behind the shorter plants on the west side of the garage, near where it’s parent had lived a full life the previous year. But this love child took it’s own sweet time to reach maturity, kind of like it thought the warm weather would last forever. The pokey plant put off setting buds until a few days ago. Finally, this morning, the first flower bloomed, shivering with cold.
Alas, the blossom is a one day wonder. With a hard frost predicted for tonight and snow for tomorrow, it doesn’t have much time. Thankfully, the sun came out this morning, so it’s short life will be pleasant. But the puny flower is a mockery perched atop the huge plant that created it. And the wasted potential of the buds doomed to die without blooming dampened my spirits. Because some days, I know, I am like the errant cosmos.
How much potential have I wasted, thinking I had plenty of time, thinking things would never change? How many opportunities have I put off, assuming they would still be there tomorrow? How much beauty has been lost? How many relationships squandered?
The cosmos didn’t grace my fall garden with it’s cheerful pink promise. Instead it reminded me of the swift passage of time, the brevity of life, the fleeting days given me to complete God’s work God. That’s not the life I intended for the seedling I transplanted last July. But I accept its unintended grace with gratitude.
The grace of urgency.
The grace of purpose.
The grace of mortality.
