Late Bloomers

Yesterday at lunch with friends, we were talking about late bloomers. Turns out all three of us were. At nineteen, all of us were struggling to figure out who we were, and were littering the road behind us with mistakes and sometimes tantrums. Life was just plain *hard* for us and we didn't know why. One friend shared that an older man told her, during that long and difficult year, that "these are the best years of her life" - and she broke into tears.

Wow, was that a comfort as I think about a certain young person I know and love who is struggling at the moment. There's so much pressure to be accomplished at an age when, I think, we're meant to be sort of wobbling around learning by trial and error. The biggest mistakes teach the biggest lessons, and the most spectacular failures mold people in fascinating ways, so that a few decades later the early disasters are the people I most want to get to know.

In my back yard are six new rosebushes, planted in March and lovingly tended by the gardener in the house (not me these days). One of them seemed like it was never going to bloom. I kept bending its canes to make sure it hadn't died, occasionally snipping off a bit to check the inside for color, and it wasn't dead, but it sure was taking its sweet time. We almost gave up on it. And then - the other day, well into the middle of JUNE, mind you, when all the other rosebushes were in glorious bloom, it decided it was time. I LOVE THIS ROSEBUSH. I wish I could remember not to give my young person a hard time, as I left the rosebush to figure out its own path. I am quite sure that this will be my favorite rose in the garden, and by the time fall rolls around it will have produced some beautiful blooms of its own.

So, that analogy may have been a little heavy-handed, but I don't care, it really works for me today.

the little guy who finally decided to get started

show-off!

takes all kinds, right?