The daffodils in our back yard finally popped open this weekend. I bought them a few years ago because they were cheap and would do well in the partial shade in that part of the yard.
Little did I know then that daffodils are the official flower of cancer survivors. They bloom in the spring, and spring brings hope.
Someone in the support group posted the affirmation that appears below. It's nice. Gives you something to think about when you see daffodils in bloom over the next couple of weeks, even if (like me) you're not much of a fan of William Wordsworth.
The affirmation is one of the weekly e-mails sent out by the good folks at The Cancer Crusade, one of those sites worth visiting (especially the "Healing with Humor" section, and their Survivor Movie).
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I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze...
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
~William Wordsworth~
I love daffodils, and I'm not even what you would call a "flower person." They're always the first thing to bloom in my yard, the surest sign that spring is really here and that the long, dark days of winter are over. No matter how much snow has covered them, no matter how many bitterly cold nights have settled upon them, no matter how many ice storms have beaten and battered the ground above them, the daffodils open in the bed outside my front door. They shove their bright little faces up out of the earth and turn toward the sun as if to say, "Ha! Here I am! You didn't think I could do it this time, but in spite of it all, I'm still here!"
No wonder the daffodil is the traditional flower symbol for cancer survivors. We endure the shock of diagnosis, the dread of surgeries and other treatments, the painful and often disabling side effects, and the fearful uncertainty that follows us the rest of our lives, because now we truly understand. We really and finally get it: that life is about hills and valleys, triumph and defeat, storms and sunshine, and yet we keep on keepin' on.
We are the daffodils.
Dear God, be with me as I weather the storms of this disease. Lift me up above the surgical table and the treatment bed or chair, beyond the confines of the hospital and the clinic and my sick bed at home. Raise me higher than the storms and all the places they rage, both within and without. And even as they rage, Lord, remind me to give thanks for storms because it takes both sunshine and showers to make little yellow flowers grow. Amen
Little did I know then that daffodils are the official flower of cancer survivors. They bloom in the spring, and spring brings hope.
Someone in the support group posted the affirmation that appears below. It's nice. Gives you something to think about when you see daffodils in bloom over the next couple of weeks, even if (like me) you're not much of a fan of William Wordsworth.
The affirmation is one of the weekly e-mails sent out by the good folks at The Cancer Crusade, one of those sites worth visiting (especially the "Healing with Humor" section, and their Survivor Movie).
****************************
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze...
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
~William Wordsworth~
I love daffodils, and I'm not even what you would call a "flower person." They're always the first thing to bloom in my yard, the surest sign that spring is really here and that the long, dark days of winter are over. No matter how much snow has covered them, no matter how many bitterly cold nights have settled upon them, no matter how many ice storms have beaten and battered the ground above them, the daffodils open in the bed outside my front door. They shove their bright little faces up out of the earth and turn toward the sun as if to say, "Ha! Here I am! You didn't think I could do it this time, but in spite of it all, I'm still here!"
No wonder the daffodil is the traditional flower symbol for cancer survivors. We endure the shock of diagnosis, the dread of surgeries and other treatments, the painful and often disabling side effects, and the fearful uncertainty that follows us the rest of our lives, because now we truly understand. We really and finally get it: that life is about hills and valleys, triumph and defeat, storms and sunshine, and yet we keep on keepin' on.
We are the daffodils.
Dear God, be with me as I weather the storms of this disease. Lift me up above the surgical table and the treatment bed or chair, beyond the confines of the hospital and the clinic and my sick bed at home. Raise me higher than the storms and all the places they rage, both within and without. And even as they rage, Lord, remind me to give thanks for storms because it takes both sunshine and showers to make little yellow flowers grow. Amen
1 comment:
Beautiful thoughts Bob.
Tom
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