I love watching moonflowers open. There is a point when the blossom goes from a spiral-shaped bud to a half-open flower in what old-timers referenced as “quicker than you could say scat!” Suddenly displaying much of its promised elegance and releasing its fragrant aroma “in the blink of an eye.” Or as Clement Moore would say, “in a twinkling.”
We Ozarkians have developed many a metaphor for a brief moment. A “chance.” A “banker’s minute” or “less-time than it would take to skin a small squirrel.” But all societies and cultures recognize the brevity of some instants; the fleetingness of some actions and opportunities.
My moonflowers sometimes take several minutes to go from closed bud to full bloom. But that magical, partial opening takes only seconds. You blink or look away and its gone. The flower fully opens; the scent still lingers. But the “magic” of awakening is gone.
Such are many opportunities in our lives. The creation of a smile as someone first reads a note of encouragement or, ripping the paper from a present—first sees a gift. A look of resolve and acceptance inspired by a prayer or word of kindness as somebody begins to more positively deal with the loss of a loved one.
Dr. Seuss once penned “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” I add that sometimes we do not realize the greatness of an opportunity until it is passed. I know well the scripture about “doing good” as we “have opportunity.” Still, I miss so many.
I think of three girls who have assisted me with my storytelling at a particular venue a couple of seasons. Just the oldest and youngest a bit more outgoing. Theirs are names I remember; the middle girl too often I forget. The two I engage in conversation. The middle one I sometimes omit.
Not by design. Sometimes because I am just really poor at remembering names; sometimes faces. At an event this spring, I offered the two a pastry for their assistance. The middle one I did not. If memory halfway serves me, I fear the middle girl even asked for one. I ignored her. I like to think I was tired and didn’t hear. I hate to think I clung to a half-dollar Little Debbie cake.
At the day’s end, the mother could not find this child. I helped search. She was alone looking out onto a field. Came as her mother neared and called her name. Had she just tired and rested? Or had she withdrawn, pierced by another offense? Quieter than her siblings, was this her reaction to another hurt in a long line of hurts? Unintended slights that build upon the conscience of the ignored; regardless of their age. I don’t know.
Last fall I took my brother and his wife to a Renaissance Fair in Texas. Supposedly the nation’s largest. Something he dearly loved and had attended often in the past. He was fighting stage-four cancer. The majority of those attending had on period-costumes. He did not.
Though vendors were plentiful, I did not offer to outfit him at our expense. Told myself I would have had to outfit his wife first. He passed later that winter. That was the last time I saw him. A few hundred dollars would have done the deed. Added to both their joy.
William Penn once wrote “…any kindness….let me do it now. …..for I shall not pass this way again.” Smart man. New magic doesn’t last. Thanks for joining us.
