“Joy is the simplest form of gratitude.”
Karl Barth
What a waiting game this was.
In early 2019, shortly after my Mum died, my Aunty told me Mum’s s favourite flower was the Celandine. I did not know that. Ever since I’ve been thinking how lovely it would be to have some in my garden.
Well blow me, it has arrived, all on it’s own. What joy! By joy I mean the absolute delight that penetrates every cell, right to the core of my being. That feeling that swells my heart, brings a smile to my face and evokes deep, deep satisfaction; that sort of joy.
While tidying up our fledgling forest garden I noticed a new plant had arrived. This happens of course, plants appear all the time. We often call them weeds and pull them out. I’ve extracted dock and dandelions, creeping buttercup and tufts of grass recently. These being the wrong plant in the wrong place. But this little plant looked familiar. A friend confirmed, yes it’s Celandine.
7 years after that first thought, 7 years! Who ever waits 7 years for anything these days?
The industrial growth, capitalist driven consumerism is a crazy making insanity that has taught me that I can have what I want now, no waiting required. Literally with one click, the touch of a button or wafting of electronic gadgetry it will be delivered tomorrow. Almost anything can arrive within ridiculously short periods of time, even when you live somewhere as rural as I do, aka half way up the West Coast of Scotland.
The thing that is required right now, is the thing that will magically transform how I feel, making me happier and more satisfied. It’s arrival promises to fulfill some gap in my life.
Brought to my door or chucked in the garage by a disgruntled, over worked, under paid delivery driver. As they try to meet some ridiculous targets, another brown cardboard box arrives.
The problem is this instantaneousness falls short. No matter how many boxes I bash and squash and stuff in my recycling bin, it is never enough. The continual screen stream selling is relentless. The non-stop ability to purchase knows no limits. It creates then feeds a gnawing sense of emptiness, of needing, of being without.
Everywhere I look it is the same message – there is something missing, something wrong with your life and THIS will fix it. Whatever THIS is, you will feel better, be better, look better, have a better life with THIS in it.
If we had to wait 7 years for it, would we still want it? In fact if we had to wait 7 months, or 7 weeks or, even just 7 days, would we still want it?
There is something in the arrival of the long awaited, that all the brown cardboard packages in the world will never be able to compete with. Waiting invites us into another world where anticipation feeds our imagination, where hope grows and joy bursts forth upon the long awaited arrival.
About the Author: Mairi
