Never Call a Pansy a Wimp

The post title is a play on words that can serve as a counterweight to all things "super" on this Super Bowl Sunday. The players will be big and strong. The crowds will be enormous and loud. The commercials will cost millions on millions of dollars. It will all be oh so big and strong. So, I invite you to pause for moment and consider: the pansy.


I planted pansies in my front yard late last October. In about two weeks, the small bed that circles a live oak tree in my yard became vibrant with a palette of violets, purples, purest of whites, and a shade that I would call almost-blue. Through snow and frost, wind and hail, they have continued to bloom. When I open the blinds in the morning, I never cease to be gladdened by the sight of them--soft, colorful flags waving just slightly in whatever breeze may be stirring. Made of such fragile substance, their petals aren't much thicker than a butterfly's wing. And yet their colors are so pure, undiluted, and strong. 

The sight of them lifts my spirits, without fail, every day. On more than one occasion, I have looked at them and thought to myself: May I prove as strong as those small flowers, surviving all weathers, coloring some corner of the world in a beautiful way.