I love cheerful colors that sparkle and gleam in the sunshine. This morning brown flowerpots made of clay are packed with bright red petunias in celebration of spring. Snowy white petunias intermingle with the red velvety petals, as they share a new home. A large terracotta Aztec imprinted pot is also residence to a tribe of ruby red geraniums.
Geraniums don’t like to get their leaves wet; like proper ladies who have returned home from an hour at the beauty salon, the last thing they want is to mist up their fine coif. Unlike most flowers that delight in the garden spray, cooling off their warm green leafy arms on a hot summer day, geraniums want the dirt soaked, not them. Flowers are like people, they have their personal likes and dislikes, and let us know their preferences by reacting.
Right now, I have a gardening dilemma – to love, and let all be as it is – or to intervene, believing that I am in control. Do I really understand the inner workings of nature? The sore spot in the garden is a rather large brood of Nymph grasshoppers. Yesterday they were enjoying a feast on my white irises. Then when politely asked, they moved on to the adjacent tall green lily plants. And, this morning, these uninvited guests were having brunch atop the closed purple blooms of my dear spiderworts underneath the old camphor tree.
The problem is perfect as I wrote about and pictured an adult lubber grasshopper in my nature book, Spiritual Lessons from Nature. The featured lubber had posed atop an ornamental astrolabe in the garden, aiming the old fashioned metal arrow toward the stars. (See below)
That bejeweled 3-inch grasshopper seemed to be a celestial messenger of sorts having arrived after a rare lunar and solar event. What do I know?
Remember, of course,
the song of the grasshopper, as well as the ant or bee—
but know in Whom ye have believed. For He,
the Giver of all good and perfect gifts,
has given these—the handiwork of His creation—
as a pattern or example or lesson, that ye—too—may learn.
--Edgar Cayce reading 1965-1
Now doubt creeps in. That was six years ago when I’d only had a rare sighting or two. This spring the picture has changed. The multitude of little black grasshoppers, with orange racing stripes, are speeding through the garden munching their way into adulthood. I think of Joshua and Caleb who scouted out the Promise Land and returned wide-eyed that the grasshoppers were as big as men.
Grasshoppers represent a giant leap forward. They never jump backwards. And with all the major shifts and earth changes in the world today, we as humans are being transformed. It is Easter week, a time to rejoice, a time to love. If all things work together for good except in my ego’s judgment, what does this soiree symbolize in the garden? A chance to choose peace? I want to learn the lesson, but don’t I need to know what it is first?
I stopped writing and took time out for breakfast, a bowl of warm oatmeal with fresh blueberries, cinnamon and honey in the garden at the umbrella table. Instead of the rainy forecast, the morning is cool, sunny with a soft breeze. A picture perfect day.
Later while watering the flowers, I gently sprayed the little grasshoppers as they clustered together on a long lily leaf, asking them to please leave. They scampered off, but soon something unusual caught my eye.
A pale baby treefrog, no bigger than a quarter, clung to a wide dampened green frond. He stared up at me with unblinking eyes as he rested in the sunlight. I spoke softly to the little fellow, surprised he was out in the open, but perhaps he was thirsty. As we looked each other in the eye, I realized I had the answer. The acronym for FROG: (F)ully (R)ely (O)n (G)od. Thanks for the reminder, I smiled.
Before I could take a picture, he had taken a leap out of sight, but his message remained. Let go and let God. Isn't that the biggest leap of all?
Enjoy your day with the Angels.
Love and joyful blessings,