Around the front of our house some of the poppy seeds I planted have sprouted.  At least I’m pretty sure the little green sprouts are poppies.  They have the distinctive frilly leaves, as opposed to bermuda grass shoots, which just have plain blades.

So, as we think about Thanksgiving, and being thankful, I’m thinking about those poppy sprouts.  Sometimes the things we’re thankful for are tiny and seed-like, or just frail sprouts, and the full brilliance of the thing is just a vision for the future, a not-yet sort of thing.  But the seeds are there.

That didn’t come out very clearly.  Let’s try again.  The truth is, life isn’t too smooth in the Langley household this year as Thanksgiving approaches.  One might be tempted to indulge in self pity, or feel bitter, or just plain try to forget about things (like Peter shattering dishes against the wall at 3 am and telling me to  . . . well, anyway).  Parenting is never easy at 3am.  Nor does one feel particularly thankful at 3am while parenting.  Perhaps you know what I mean.

And I’m sure that none of us are as “thankful” as the beautiful people in the commercials and ads who have very white teeth and perfect hair and cute children and all that.  We all have our difficult stuff.

One could despair.  That’s always an option.  Or, one can feel the seeds of good things–like love and caring and hope, and feel them round and solid and fertile, just waiting for a good rain and a bit of sun.

One can imagine the front yard exploding in orange poppies.  All those fluttering petals, butterflies flitting among them, the sun warm and pleasant.  It’s all there in the seeds.


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