sunflowers on the hill

I went for a short walk after work today, right when everything was hit by late afternoon fireball sun. I had a few aha moments, if you will, that reminded me of why I’m here (“generally”, even if “specifically” hasn’t come yet).

Across the street is O’s house, the refugee who was beaten at the gas station a half block away from us back in March. I remember driving around Allison Hill for weeks, mourning the poverty and violence and hardships of so many of my refugee friends. Now, several months later, I live in this neighborhood. I don’t think many things have changed, maybe, but I have. And this neighborhood changes me. It’s gritty and real and there are many potholes. Sometimes it is hard/overwhelming/frustrating to seek ways to be a positive force here. It continues to be a daily struggle of mine, also, to be driven by love instead of fear when I interact with others here, but I am actively choosing to take the discomfort and mistakes and learning over apathy and disengagement. If living here and trying to make friends and offering rides to the grocery store is all I can do, I have to believe it’s somehow enough.

I walked to the farm because I wanted to have some moments of thanks where the things grow. The corn husks are beautiful and there are still some bold sunflowers bobbing their heads in the fall gustiness. I always like sunflowers and I think I figured out why today. Sunflowers always face the sun. They tilt their heads so that they have as much exposure to the source of light as possible. They turn to connect with and receive from the sun. It's subtle movement. Maybe they like the warmth, too. And I think sunflowers resemble the sun. They grow right where they're put. And in just being there, they offer something to their surroundings. I want to be like the sunflower for all of these reasons, always tilting to face the sun, always changing positions to receive light in the darkness, always seeking to resemble the source. And if tilting and reflecting and growing is all that I can do, I have to believe it’s somehow enough.