Dancing Daffodils

Mom led us through the woods, leaves crunching beneath our feet, until we came upon a clearing-- the Coprio Place. They had been neighbors to my Grandma Balli’s family during the early 1900’s. Scattered rocks still formed a semblance of what once was the foundation of a house, and nearby, to our delight, there were daffodils blooming! The nodding colorful blossoms were no longer in rows but now grew in a swath  of yellow amidst  a sea of winter brown, telling us that this was once a home. Daffodils have the ability to self-propagate and create new bulbs each year, allowing one patch to grow and bloom for decades as a lasting testimony. And here they were deep in the woods on a remote WV mountain top telling a story.
     Daffodils, not native to North America, are the March birth-flower and symbolize rebirth and new beginnings. They are also called “Lent Lilies” because they bloom around Easter and nothing better represents newness of life more than a conquered grave and a risen Savior. 2 Corinthians 5:17 says, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.”
     Famous poet William Wadsworth took a walk in 1802 through an English wood and came upon a patch of daffodils, which he commemorated in a poem, “…And then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.” I can just imagine the little yellow blossoms tossing and dancing in the breeze. I am not a graceful dancer by any stretch of the imagination, but truth be told I have danced and it was not unlike a daffodil.
   Dancing is in my blood because my parents do-si-doed and promenaded on a float in the Strawberry Parade as members of a square-dance club, and we’re pretty sure it’s hereditary. Elvis died when I was in fifth grade and we’d stay inside on rainy day recess and dance to Elvis LPs on Mrs. Paul’s old record player. It’s unclear who enjoyed it more, Mrs. Paul who reminisced, or the new generation of us kids thinking he was cool for the first time. As expected, the dancing gene passed down and once at church my daughter was on stage in pink sequins dancing with a plunger. (I realize this raises valid questions about what denomination we attended but rest assured, it was truth-centered.) 
     My son also got his share of the inherited dancing trait and had the fortunate opportunity to show the world at a Quinceanera for one of his 15-year-old classmates. Afterwards he reported that most of the boys were a little shy about dancing so when he and some friends approached the mom to thank her for inviting them to the party, she forcibly corralled them onto the dance floor towards her twirling daughter. Gabe was the friend in front so as the others shrunk back he ended up getting sucked into the center of the vortex and amazingly found himself dancing with the guest of honor under a spotlight. Jack and the other boys watched in awe as Gabe brought out moves they’d never seen. They cheered him on! At one point he got so wound up he performed a riveting jig with his foot, twisting it around and around in the air. Back in the truck driving home the boys told him how impressive he’d looked and he sheepishly explained what they thought was a jig, was actually his foot getting caught in a tear in the hem of her expensive poofy dress and him trying to  free himself! 
     I conclude, on life’s big dancefloor, being graceful (Grace-full) might not have much to do with how we move but more to do with the One who moves us. In Jesus we will find freedom. He is the author of new beginnings… And sometimes reminders can be as simple as a daffodil or a walk in the woods…

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