I had the entire day blocked out to work on a new book, but alas, I began with the writer's chores of procrastination and distraction. I only meant to clip a few roses and gardenias, but then noticed a weed. Then, I realized the mounds of drift roses needed thinning and, 3 hours later, was exhausted, with a mountain of thorn-filled clippings to haul to the curb.
As I was procrastinating, I walked past the spot where the Iris had been in full bloom just a few weeks before and remembered how lush they looked.
But when I passed by today, they were withered and dead.
Except for one late-bloomer.
I've always loved late bloomers because, in just about every category, I am one.
It always makes me choke a little when someone says my writing is a "late-in-life gift." First of all, "Ahem, didn't your mother teach you better than to call out a lady's age?"
But also, I believe every gift is right on time. God is never late. He knows what we need and when we need it. If I'd started writing my newspaper column any earlier, I would have missed spending lots of time with my sons. It would have been stressful to try and fit a weekly deadline into being the kind of mother I wanted to be.
To ease the teenage angst of being younger and a step-behind all the other girls in my grade, my mother would always say, "Early bloom, early rot." I actually think she was more concerned about it than I, but as I aged, I learned she was right.
For everything there is a season. Our gifts are given precisely when we need them and we are never too old to receive a gift that is the absolute perfect fit.
There's no such thing as a late-in-life gift. They're just "gifts." Now, get up and use them!
