Tag: wildflowers

Texas Goodness

Texas Goodness

Something fluttered around me, as if I’d stepped into a web of butterflies. But I hadn’t. Butterflies were off in the distance. On the Nature Boardwalk surrounding the marshy South Pond in Lincoln Park I was soaking in the August-blooming bubblegum-colored big-flowered swamp mallows. And there on a daisy branch sat a goldfinch. And another, on a farther branch. Hidden in the yellow coneflowers were a few more, pecking at seeds. Goldfinches had entered my airspace as they headed for the wild prairie flowers at the swamp’s edge. Goodness nurturing goodness.  

My held-breath whispered, “You know, Regan, God did not have to give us the goldfinch.” At that moment, as others before it, I believed in God. The previous morning, fearing all goodness had vanished from the earth, I assumed God, like the butterflies, had flittered off in the distance, out of sight, out of the picture.

I lost my faith in goodness for the umpteenth time the day President Trump told Texas Governor Greg Abbott to redistrict Texas in order to gain five more gerrymandered Republican Congressional seats. Americans, who vote with their pockets, are realizing everything they buy to survive in this world since Trump became President has skyrocketed. Because of that, commentators suggest Trump is afraid we’ll all vote against his MAGA party in the 2026 mid-term elections yielding more Democrats in Congress. Cynics say Trump needs more Republicans in Congress in case he declares an “election emergency” and tells Congress to appoint him for another term. 

No one need explain redistricting to me. In the 1980s I worked in the Illinois legislature where computerized gerrymandering was invented in the basement. Drawing legislative lines to benefit Democratic incumbents was de riguer, not just acceptable, but expected. No one uttered the word gerrymander then. Today, Illinoisans are surprised to hear Republicans scoffing that their state takes the cake on gerrymandering. The secret is out.

Republican Governor Abbott yielded to Trump’s demand. He introduced a newly drawn map with the five added Republican Congressional seats to the Texas legislature. The Democratic Texas lawmakers promptly left the state. The Texas legislature needs those Democrats in the Austin capital to make up the necessary quorum to vote on that map. 

And those Texas Freedom Fighters, as they’re described at Jesse Jackson’s Rainbow PUSH Coalition, are housed in a high-security hotel outside of Chicago. They’ve had bomb scares and death threats. They cannot move around without security. I can’t think of a lower hell than being far from home stowed away in an exurb hotel with no end in sight.

One of the exiled Texans, James Talarico from Austin, attends a Christian seminary to ground himself in the fight against White Christian Nationalism that’s roiling the Texas legislature. A nurturing goodness, he speaks of hope and love and responsibility to the United States.

These Texans, these democracy heroes, are saving us from the worst of gut-wrenching trumpism. When the day comes to proclaim their victory, let’s stroll around the Nature Boardwalk among the goldfinches, daisies and butterflies, nurturing goodness. 

Maybe then God will come back into the picture.

More about James Talarico

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Oh no! Parables

A few months ago, I wrote about a preaching at church on the parable of the ten virgins, or bridesmaids as they say in modern versions of the New Testament. In the story, told by Jesus in the gospel of Matthew, the ten women are waiting for the arrival ceremony outside the gates of the wedding venue. Five of them, known as the wise bridesmaids, came prepared with full oil lamps, greeted the wedding party, and they all entered the gates to the feast. The other five, known as the foolish bridesmaids, were out buying lamp oil, took too much time in the shop, and got locked out of the party. The preacher says the oil is a metaphor for hope. Always have a little hope stored up because you never know when God will present herself with the next great opportunity.

I really hate parables. They’ve always made me feel bad about myself. Oil as a metaphor for hope seems a stretch, but it still makes me cringe. In this and all Bible stories, I relate to the foolish ones, the worst person in the story. I’m never ready, always late, and a failure at time management. 

The question arises: why would Jesus, my earliest-remembered friend, use the parables to traumatize me with such heavy doses of self-blame? No wonder people have stopped attending Christian churches.

At the church I attend, the Sunday bulletin at the end of May included this statement: 

This summer, we will take our messages from the stories that Jesus loved to tell: Parables. 

Oh Jeez. That gives me about thirteen Sundays’ worth of sermons to learn and absorb some wider spiritual truths that have eluded me thus far. I have hope that the preacher is up to the task. In his kick-off to the summer pulpit, he talked about the parable of the Sower. Do you know that one? The farmer throws seeds around willy-nilly throughout the land, giving no thought to where they settle. Some seeds settle on rocks, some on thorns. I’ve always considered myself the thorny soul who has choked off God’s seeds through my own self-will. Another parable evoking self-blame.

When I was younger, I used to buy cheap packets of wildflower seeds at Walgreens and toss them around Lincoln Park on my morning run in places that needed a bit of sprucing up. I never bothered cultivating them; I simply hoped a few would spring to life. It was a labor of rebellious love. 

The preacher reminded me of those long-ago spring days. He interprets the seeds as love, God spreading love around. Sometimes, love takes. Sometimes, it doesn’t. But God keeps throwing it out there, just like I kept throwing out seeds of wildflowers. Love is power, says the preacher,  tender power, vulnerable but power nonetheless, capable of changing people. The sighting of Spring’s first tulips makes me happy, no matter how anti-happy I may be. That’s powerful love.

Perhaps a summer of parables will be ok.