Bowing our Heads

To: My friends.
RE: Humility

One and All:

Maybe I have told you this already, maybe not. I just don't know because I cannot really remember. Like most things, it matters very little if I did or not. What matters is that I am telling you now as a way of introducing you to something that does matter. Does that make any sense? Again, does it matter? No.

I have this large yard of grass surrounding the house in which I live. It is a nice yard of grass, one that anyone would feel comfortable spending a lazy afternoon wandering around in, or lying on, or staring at. I confess that I am quite fond of simply taking a few minutes in the morning to look out my bathroom window at the yard of grass. I enjoy seeing the glistening grass and inhaling the crisp morning air. (I should tell you that I always open the upper portion of the replacement window so that my view is unobstructed. I dislike the obstructed view that requires Superman like vision to see through the glass and screen. The view must be clear, pristine, and unadulterated.)

But I was not satisfied with looking out the bathroom window at mere grass--as if grass were merely mere. If I may digress for but a moment, I would tell you that grass is amazingly beautiful and green. Even grass that has been murdered by man's machines gives off a grace like scent that remains embedded in our olfactory nerve even after the sight of it has been replaced by new grass growing in its place. Who among us does not like the smell of freshly cut (mowed for you city folk) grass? But I digress. What I started to say is that grass is not merely mere, but it, like all of God's world, is fearfully and wonderfully made. I also started to say that grass was not enough for me this year. So I had a plan that involved turning over some soil, ripping up some grass, and planting some seeds. It is these seeds that I would now like to talk about for a moment.

These seeds were tiny when we planted them and I suppose if the seeds still existed the would be equally as small; but the seeds I planted do not exist any longer. They are gone. They have been transformed into something wonderful, something beautiful, something that is just within the realm of descriptive words. I, along with the help of my wife and sons, planted sunflower seeds. We planted hundreds of them, and what a spectacle it is to behold. Our driveway is lined on both sides with hundreds of sunflowers--sometimes there are three or four plants growing out of a single hole. I have my son to thank for that. When we asked him to help plant we neglected to inform him that only one seed needed to go in each hole. Frankly, it looks much better the way he did it. We also have a sunflower garden that, unfortunately, did not do as well this year as it did last year. Finally, we have what I call rogue sunflowers growing all over the yard. These were not planned or planted. They are rogues because the birds dropped seeds which then sprouted and took root. They are glorious.

Another amazing aspect of the plants that are all over the yard is the variety of types. We have sunflowers that are more thank six feet tall. We have others that are only a couple of feet tall. We have sunflowers that have very modest size heads. We have sunflowers that have huge, elephant like heads. We have sunflowers with yellow petals; we have sunflowers with red petals. We have sunflowers that only grow one head; we have sunflowers that grow three, four, five, six, or more heads. We have sunflowers that grew in bunches, and others that grew in solitary. In short, we have bunches of sunflowers growing in the yard. I even have a small sunflower that grew up in my herb garden. It is nestled in-between the globe basil and the oregano. I think it is acting like I cannot see it. It grew real small and hunched over like a dog cowering in the grass while it hides from a cat it is trying to outflank. But I found it because it also grew a rather gorgeous blossom that could not be hidden. It's yellow petals are spectacular.

Bees like the sunflowers. I have seen bees and other bugs take up residence on the heads of the sunflowers. Bees know a good thing when they find it. That's all I really wanted to say about bees--it's funny because they get so loaded down that they can hardly leave to fly back home. Like I said, bees know a good thing when they find it.

I am a big fan of the sunflowers with the huge heads full of seeds. They must be a special type of sunflower. They grow really tall and the stalks that hold them upright are unbelievably strong. I suppose, without measuring, I can estimate the stalks to be about 2 or more inches in diameter and as strong as a tree trunk. They withstand the wind that rips and races across our yard and deal with a consistent amount of tough, driving rain. I admire these sunflowers for their strength, their beauty, and their humility. Humility? Yes, humility. Let me see if I can explain what I mean.

In my garden grows corn, peppers of varying sorts, tomatoes, cucumbers, beans and sunflowers. I planted all the vegetables and fruit; the sunflowers in the garden grew on their own as if planted by an invisible hand that wanted to see them grow and mature. I sense that Providence must have played a Robinson Crusoe corn like role in their birth, and I am happy It did. They are huge reaching way above six feet in height and the heads probably weigh in at several pounds. They are monsters, beautiful monsters, that might frighten the unaware, or the careless. I, for one, tread very carefully around them because they are very special plants. I say they are special because they seem to understand something that most humans scarcely begin to even mention in public or private. We don't like to think that plants and flowers are smarter than us, but sometimes that is the inevitable conclusion one must come to. I did.

These mighty plants with huge leaves, tree-trunk stalks, and 10 pound heads are certainly the monsters of my garden. They are beautiful and lovely, and they seem to know it. For in my garden these most magnificent of creations do not stand erect and proud as if they desire everyone to stare in their direction. Instead, as they grow in height and weight, they begin to humble themselves. Their heads droop down under the crushing weight of their own glory. The more they weigh, the more they droop. They become so heavy that the head of the plant eventually is staring directly at the ground--not even looking up at the very sun that they are named after and that they need to flourish. I have a suspicion that there is more to these plants than meets the eye. I think they are bowing worship.

Oh, I know what you are thinking: "Plants are plants and they do not worship because they have no sense about these things. How can a plant do something that only humans can do? Stop being absurd. Plants do not bow. Plants do not worship. The heads fall down under their own tremendous weight." Yes. You are probably right. I mean, what could I possibly be thinking in ascribing to plants something that humans do? I read something one time, I vaguely remember where, where it says that if the humans beings do not cry out in worship, the rocks will spring to life and do it in our absence. It leads me to wonder: Have humans stopped crying out? Have we so stopped our worship that the rocks and sunflowers have started? Or, maybe that is too deep. Maybe the sunflowers have always buckled under the weight of their glory as reminders to us mere humans that there is, even though we might be something spectacular and pulchritudinous, a reason to humble ourselves. Sunflowers are wonderful, don't get me wrong. But I think they are smarter than we are because they know their beauty is fleeting and that even at the height of their glory, there is still Someone greater than they. We humans are not like sunflowers in any way. We grow tall and give birth to glorious beauty and then spend every morning and evening staring into mirrors to admire and primp ourselves. Much have we to learn from the humble sunflower.

Don't get me wrong. Beautifully is a blessed way to exist. I know many beautiful people who have an uncommon outer beauty that can barely be defined. I believe in my heart that God delights in the beautiful or else He would not have made so many beautiful creatures. Sometimes, however, I wish I was not so arrogant. This is not to say that I am beautiful. It is to say that I am arrogant and all too often unaware of the presence of God. Those sunflowers will stand outside day and night with their heads bowed in some sort of attitude of prayer or worship. I will be counseled from the day I am born until the day I die to walk with my head help up high. I will be told never to be humiliated, never to lower my eyes to another because showing weakness and humility is the wrong message to send to another, and to take as much beating as I can and never, ever deign to confess that I am arrogant and proud. The famous words of a certain terrorist before his execution sums up humanity succinctly: Bloodied, but unbowed.

Confession time: I want to be like the sunflower, the tallest plant in my garden, but also the most humble. I want to grow tall and straight and still have no idea that I am as beautiful as others might think. I want to walk around all day long with my head held low in humble worship and prayer, in an attitude of thankfulness and humility. I wonder what would happen if more people in the world lived like sunflowers instead of like dandelions. Sunflowers grow all summer and survive the elements, the birds, the heat and the cold--and keep their heads down all the while. Dandelions grow straight up with the same yellow magnificence as the sunflower and get walked all over, all day, and eventually are cut down because they are weeds.

I know which sort of plants I will gather seeds from this September. And I suspect that I know where He will gather seeds from someday when He repopulates the earth like Eden. I will look for Sunflowers, not dandelions. He will look for humility and worship, not the bloodied and unbowed.