Several days in a row I walk to the edge of my neighbor's pasture to admire the glorious lavender pennyroyal blooming under the pines and oaks and along the fence line - just out of my reach.
The long rows of barb-wire keep me and my camera at a distance, and I pout - wishing the fragrant herb with its tiny delicate flowers was growing this abundantly on my property.
Late in the afternoon, a dozen fire trucks respond to a brush fire down the road. I grab my camera and walk to a far corner of our pasture for a closer look.
For half an hour or more I watch as the fire is contained, and as I turn to walk back across the field toward the setting sun, I catch a glimpse of the lavender flowers sparkling at my feet. In my pasture.
They were there all along. I was too busy coveting my neighbor's flowers to notice.
In Rose from the Brier, Amy Carmichael reminds me that when I wish for something, what I'm saying is that I'm wishing "that things were different."
In other words, I'm not content with what I have and where I am when I'm wishing for the gifts - the flowers in someone else's green pasture.
And I'm humbled that Grace places tiny lavender flowers at my feet - when I least deserve them.
