Article May 17, 1913 Issue

UNFOLDING

LOUISE KNIGHT WHEATLEY.

Probably there is no theme which has so touched the fancy of poets of all ages as that of the coming of the spring. Literature sparkles with gems laid at the feet of the dainty maiden whose footsteps carpet the earth with loveliness, whose fingers hang the boughs with bloom, and whose smile wins the migrant birds back to their old trysting-places. But one need not possess the soul of a poet to love the spring; even the prosiest of us finds himself standing still, at times, to watch in rapturous delight the marvel of a sleepy world's awakening. At such a moment the thoughts of the Christian Scientist turn naturally from effect to cause, and he realizes, in gratitude inexpressible, that this ever-recurring incident is but a type and symbol of the Life which is ever present, though the material senses would tell him otherwise. And as he notes the glad response which all things about him make to the beneficent touch of May, he rejoices in the knowledge that sooner or later to each of earth's inhabitants will come, in like manner, the same sweet stir and unrest which always accompany the reaching out toward higher and better things. As naturally as the petals of a flower unfold, so does the heart that feels the invigorating touch of Truth and the warm sunshine of Love arouse itself from its long sleep of materiality to find its life already "hid with Christ in God."

This world of ours is like a garden, where the flowers are all unfolding, each in its own way and after its own fashion. As there are many varieties of flowers, so do there seem to be many varieties of disposition; and perhaps we would do well to remember this in our relations with those for whom we would gladly see the long, cold "winter of [their] discontent made glorious summer." The pussy-willow, for instance, puts out its downy buds before the snow has quite melted from the northern slopes, while the crocuses and violets open their eyes almost at the first touch of the spring sun; but while we love these for their bright responsiveness, we turn from them to the bare little shrub in some remote corner of our garden, and love it none the less because the uneasy stirring of its stiff branches is the only response it seems disposed to make to the gentle touch of the spring breeze.

Why should we grow impatient with our loved ones whose spiritual awakening seems slow to our dull and doubting eyes? We cannot all be pussy-willows and crocuses and violets, though God be thanked that there are already enough of these to make earth beautiful with promise. Let us be wise and loving. Is anything gained by unpleasant comparisons? "We should remember that the world is wide; that there are a thousand million different human wills, opinions, ambitions, tastes, and loves; that each person has a different history, constitution, culture, character, from all the rest; that human life is the work, the play, the ceaseless action and reaction upon each other of these different atoms" (Miscellaneous Writings, p. 224). Because we became interested in Christian Science on, for instance, Monday, that is not in itself sufficient reason, though good as far as it goes, why some one whom we think belongs to us should become interested on Tuesday; nor should we weep and lament in case all of our immediate family are not gathered within its fold by Saturday night. The springtime of Spirit is ever at our door, but we can no more force any one to feel its healing and regenerating touch than we can, through human will or human love or human ingenuity, fling the mantle of pink blossoms upon the peach-tree until the tree is ready to receive it.

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UNFOLDING

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