Lily of the Valley

I remember sitting inside there, just being still and listening to the birds singing in the bush above me. Who knows what possessed me to crawl under those scratchy shrubs. Perhaps I looked at them from the outside, in the corner of that rusty white house that belonged to the old woman next door (who, little did I know, was actually my great-grandma), and I must have thought to myself, “Hmm, I’ll bet this would look better from inside!” So inside I crawled. And I was right.

The sun filtered green through the branches above me, away in my little corner of the world. I remember the smell of the catnip, and shoving handfuls of the stuff in my pockets to give to the kittens later. But the crowning glory were the little flowers that covered the ground. White lily of the valley. I wouldn't have known they existed if I had been standing outside. So dainty and delicate, like teeny-tiny white fairy bells. I imagined that fairies must live in this world. And the wonder of the magic and mystery overwhelmed me.

Another time, I was out playing and exploring the farm. Well into autumn, the air was just starting to turn from crisp to bitter cold. I rounded the corner of the red paint-chipped barn to a sight I hadn’t fully explored. The scene was bleak. A blank cold sky, and the ground covered with dried up thick stalks of long grass. Again, what possessed me to begin ripping up handfuls of grass? The land rose into a slight hill right there and I started building a little fort by heaping the stalks and forming a sort of cave. And I was Laura Ingalls Wilder, building a home, a hideaway.

Lost in my busyness, Andy found me and started to help me build. Mom eventually discovered what we were doing and took pictures of the work of our hands. Andy and I, with our cold red-patched cheeks and drippy noses, all curled up in our grass-cocoon. Smiling, proud of our work.

I was reading a book this morning by Stasi Eldredge, Becoming Myself. Often books like these invite me to close my eyes and think back to my childhood...sifting through and rediscovering lost memories that teach me more about who I really am and how God has ever been present in shaping me.

These two memories came to mind.

And the question whispered through me…”Was I trying to hide from the world?”

No.

No, I was simply seeking beauty and magic.

And that beauty could be found by looking at the world from another angle. I saw the landscape, the mundane, and decided that if I only changed my perspective or used what was already there and just moved it around a little...that I could find what my heart desired.

I still have a natural tendency to do this. I look at things and explore until I find the beauty in it. The way I go about it as an adult may have changed a little. I am much more aware that it extends to crappy situations too...if I dig hard enough I can find God. In hindsight, I can always find his fingerprints there, using whatever was going on for a bigger masterpiece.

As a little girl, I didn’t fully understand that the deep magic and beauty I sought was found in the Supernatural Creator of the Universe.

Changing perspective. Changing the way I think. And finding Joy.

I think it is the foundation of a creative mind.

And the capacity for it has always been there.

We all have it. We’re made in the image of the Creator.