“Saving the Wildflowers,” Ensign, Aug. 1980, 61
I sometimes feel overwhelmed at the number of things I think I need to do to be an effective wife, mother, homemaker, Church member, and citizen. I find myself so anxious to accomplish what needs to be done that I do not feel calm and relaxed with my children. I’m always saying, “Hurry!” and I go to bed at night feeling a bit like a massive truck that has rolled over mountain roads, crushing delicate wildflowers in a dogged determination to reach a certain destination by nightfall.
So today I decided to gather a few “wildflowers”—those special, wonderful moments when the rush of doing melts away in the joy of being. I took a walk with my five-year-old son. Leaving the telephone, the laundry, and some dusty furniture behind for awhile, we held hands as we walked, sharing the smell of freshly plowed dirt and the sounds of birds welcoming spring. We stretched out on the grass beside the canal and wrote poems together.
Afterward, considering all I needed to do, I wondered if that time were wisely spent. Yet the pure joy of this afternoon warmed my heart and gave me incentive to be a better mother. My dad has always told me, “You can do anything you want, but not everything.” My decision to spend some time with my son today necessarily eliminated a myriad of other ways I could have spent it. But that particular time will never come again.
Somehow, that thought makes me even more glad for this afternoon.—Rebecca Merrill, Lehi, Utah