I am sitting at my kitchen table and I am doing the work I have given myself over the next few days. I am keeping watch. Not over flocks of sheep by night, but of irises by day. You see there is what seems like a miracle happening in our garden. More than two years ago, our friend gave us iris bulbs and we planted them. These bulbs were not new to the world. The bulbs dug from her garden had been dug up before from her Grandma Frisbie’s garden. How long had they birthed beauty? Two summers passed and nothing…no color, no blooms.

But this year…this year…they are beginning to emerge, one by one, opening a purple into the world that seems beyond reason, beyond belief. Their bearded blossoms, deep and rich evolve into a lighter lavender, speckled with black. A sunburst of yellow and white springs from the center sending rays of finely follicled tendrils jutting out from the center of the flower.  They give off…I know it seems impossible….a scent of grape. It could be the power of imagination but I don’t care. I smell it. You cannot convince me otherwise.

All around these large blooms. smaller versions, dwarf irises are also ready to gently make an understated appearance. They already know they are only the chorus that stands behind the main attraction this year. Last year they waved in the spring wind bringing sweetness and simplicity to the garden. But this year, after laying at rest in the ground, their flashier siblings are taking the stage, ready for their big production number.

A week ago I read of the professor and students at Gustavus Adolphus College who had been waiting for 14 years for a rare flower to bloom. On the day it bloomed, smelling like ‘rotting flesh’, it was all I could do to not clear my calendar and head down for the viewing hours of 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. It seemed like something one should do given the plant’s great effort. But I didn’t. I continued on my regular schedule, doing my daily work.

So now, with the miracle of the irises happening within my very gaze,I have chosen to keep watch. And today, I give thanks for the patience of all that takes time and effort, hardwork and perseverance to bloom in the world…..giant purple blossoms, the 17 year song of the cicada, the life of the quiet, thoughtful child, the deeply held creative idea, the prayer of parents whose children are at war, the Way of Peace.

I believe someplace, at all times, someone is faithfully keeping watch. I feel privileged to join them.