Wild Squill, Llanddwyn, Ynys Mon, Easter 2015.
Therese continues talking of humility through flowers.
It seems to me that if a little flower could talk, she would quite simply tell what the Good God has done for her, without trying to conceal her blessings. Under no pretext of false humility would she claim to be disgraceful and lacking in scent, or that the sun had scorched her splendour and the storms had broken her stem, all the while knowing within herself that everything was quite the contrary.
A flower setting out to tell her story would rather rejoice to be publishing the totally gratuitous attention shown to her by Jesus, and she would recognise that there was nothing in herself to attract his divine concern, for indeed it was his mercy alone that had made whatever good was in her.
These squills were blooming on the windswept Isle of Llanddwyn at Eastertide. Being close to the ground protects their short stems from storms, and in a treeless place, open to the sun, they are neither scorched nor faded by his rays. They were a gratuitous surprise when I came upon them above a rocky cliff. And if God too saw that they were very good, that’s hardly surprising: his mercy, Therese tells us, made whatever good is in them.
What good do you see in the mirror this morning? Count your blessings!