At dinnertime, my grandchildren play a game called Bloom, Bud, Thorn. One by one, each child looks back over the day and chooses her bloom—the very best gift; the most shining moment. Sometimes, it is a momentous thing like losing a tooth or catching a fish; sometimes, it is something smaller, like a favorite drawing. Then she names her bud—the thing she is looking forward to—like dessert or recess. Last, she names her thorn—the thing that hurt—like falling off her bike. The grownups around the table play, too.
I play, too--every day, and all by myself. I used to play only at bedtime, but I enjoyed it so much that now I also play while I am driving and doing chores and taking a break at my desk. Usually it is not easy to decide which bloom is my favorite because, when I slow down enough to parse through the hours, I find blooms that I would have missed but for the game—a warm dog on a cold morning or a flock of swallows soaring as if they were one or a friend telling me that her welcome mat is always out. The buds surprise me, too, once I slow down enough to see the good things that lie ahead—an afternoon picnic with my favorite eight-year-old or a hot bath after a long day or a Sunday afternoon with people I love. The thorns, of course, are not as much fun as the blooms and buds, but it is good for me to name them. Things that hurt—a friend in pain or the cut on my arm or the cutting remark that I wish I had not made—always hurt less when I bring them into the light instead of letting them lurk just below the surface. All in all, it is a healing game.
Lord, please open my eyes so that I will be able to see and to share with you all my blooms and buds and thorns.
“[A]nd He gave sight to many who were blind.” Luke 7:21
“One’s mind runs back up the sunbeam to the sun. If I could always be what I aim at being, no pleasure would be too ordinary or too usual for such [grateful] reception; from this first taste of the air when I look out of the window—one’s whole cheek becomes a sort of palate—down to one’s soft slipper at bed-time.” C. S. Lewis