This last summer I’ve been thinking a lot about fluff.
It all started at bedtime one evening. I was reading a story to our youngest, when all of a sudden I noticed that some airborne seedpods had come in through the window. When we looked out, we noticed a thin cloud of them blowing past the front of our house. Obviously the dry, warm conditions were just right for whatever kind of tree or plant had just released them.
Over the summer, I thought a lot about the seedpod fluff we’d seen and it seemed to say something to me about the fact that God is working in unseen ways all around us and that it is only maybe a fraction of the time that we see the evidence of what God has been up to.
But that wasn’t the end of the fluff. Granted it has been a record-breakingly warm and dry summer in the UK but I seemed to run into fluff everywhere I went. Every time I did, be it at the seaside or in the Derbyshire Peaks, I offered to God to be as much like a wind-blown ball of mini parachutes as I could. Going wherever I was blown. Being as life-giving as I could.
Someone pointed out to me, however, that the whole design of seedpod fluff is that it is able to be blown randomly and end up in all sorts of places. It’s not like planting beans in a straight line. The whole beauty of fluff is its randomness. Maybe it’s not meant to be blown anywhere particular. Or maybe it’s just meant to end up in as many places as possible.
Towards the end of the summer, we were at the park and I was surprised to notice the entire grass field was full of low growing dandelion fluff. This spoke to me of being a blessing where I am. Not looking for a good breeze to blow me somewhere else, necessarily, but being as loving and generous as I can be where ever I am.
You’ll probably be able to guess what an unenthusiastic cleaner I am, but I recently found a little seedpod of fluff in the corner of the kitchen. Let that be a sign to me of making every little thing that I do, holy. Even washing the floor.