Sullen Sunflowers

She drove down the country road, windows sliced, fall breeze slipping in. The slight crisp in the air told her it might be too late. But still, she drove. A sight to see, the field of sunflowers. Everyone marvels over the strong stems that hold up such wide faces surrounded by delicate petals. My traveling friend. She drove along the narrow North Dakota road as the sun sunk, waving goodbye in deep golds and pinks. 

The field up ahead was her destination. Almost there. How did God create such wide open fields full of beauty, and why were they all tucked away at the end of long roads? As the sun melted to the bottom of the sky, she pulled to the side of the road. Would she be too late? 

The sunflowers stood tall, but their heads tilted sadly, looking at the ground. The yellow velvety petals had shriveled black. The grand landscape that used to burst with color was now seen in black and white like an old photo. An eerie darkness, yet she stood and admired. 

Staring, and somewhat marveling, at a vast field of sullen sunflowers. Dead. For the season, at least. I can relate. I wanted to be there too, even if the timing wasn’t quite right.

I wondered, could it be that I’ve spent too many journeys down long paths, traveling toward something that was dead? Have I stopped and stared for more years than I should have at things that were already shriveled? Sure, it’s fickle to run at the first petal that curls and drops to the ground, but I’ve stuck around to watch something beautiful transform to shades of black without a second thought.

I’ve held onto relationships, waiting, hoping. Staring at the person, imagining the bright colors that were once there and the delicate features I had come to know. But is it ok to stay somewhere just because of what once was? Is it alright to gaze upon something, hoping that maybe it’ll be revived?

I’ve waited many months in certain seasons of my life, and the memories are torturous. Did God see his daughter standing on the side of the road adoring something he told her was already dead? 

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” – Isaiah 43:19

If God is doing a new thing in my life, then I might need to take the hint when one thing is dead and another is being formed. I can’t walk through a new door if I’m still staring at the closed one. And all the imagining of what was once there doesn’t turn the gray faces back to yellow. It’s just my imagination keeping something alive that God has said to move away from. It’s not in season for me, at least not yet. Perhaps he’ll guide me back down that road one day when the sunflowers are in bloom to show me what he has in store. 

It’s time for me to pull my thoughts and reign in my memories that tell me the yellow is there if I look hard enough. It’s not. I’m just the girl standing in front of the field of withered flowers. God has something new in store for me, and if I choose to follow his path, I just might be surprised at the rebirth that takes place along that long narrow road. 

And although I might not know the destination, moving toward something in bloom feels like a field of hope, but only if I’m willing to pull my gaze from that dead end path.