Many moons ago I saw a tattoo that I REALLY wanted. It was a butterfly, or at least the shape of a butterfly, but the wings looked like a cutout of a tiger's face. The eyes filled the top part of the wings and at the bottom the wings turned into its whiskers. It was beautiful! Excuse my paltry description of it; I assure you, I've not done it justice. On each side I wanted a symbol for "wild" and "free". I never got the tattoos, but my heart has always remained wild and free. I do not like to be constrained in any way, shape, or form - literally and figuratively. Even as a baby I hated to be swaddled. Grandma Lois loved to tell the story of how she would wrap me up only to have me wiggle and wriggle until I'd freed myself and was going over her shoulder - even at just a few weeks old. Everyone has a different definition of what personal freedom means to them, and I've always felt that if I were going to be fenced in, it would be by fences of my own making, not someone else's. In my mind I always envisioned "wild and free" with the face of a tiger, and I've been known to be bold and fierce, so I thought the tiger was fitting.
Until two days ago.
Mom and I were at Hobby Lobby and I saw a piece of art that spoke to me in such a profound manner that I went back to the store the next day to buy it because I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Okay, so I"m sure it's obvious why the "wild and free" part grabbed my eye, but the cacti is what held my attention. First, let me say that I am not a fan of the cactus plant. When I was 3 of 4 years old I fell into one and, in case you didn't know, that hurts. A lot. Like, a lot, a lot. My aunt and cousins were leaving after a visit to our house and I was running after them, waving goodbye, when I fell into the cactus plant at the end of our driveway. My hand was covered in needles and it felt like it took my mom and aunt 3 years to get them all out and I screamed hysterically the entire time. Needless to say, the cactus and I are not on friendly terms. Yet, here I stood in the middle of a store on a Thursday afternoon unable to look away from this picture of cacti. The longer I stood there, the more it spoke to me and the more I realized that I am a cactus, not a tiger.
The cactus is a remarkable plant. It grows where few things grow. It holds life-giving water. It protects itself. It's not afraid to grow alone. And that's the end of my kindergarten knowledge of the cactus. It is, in fact, wild and free. But, here's what really struck me - it's still rooted. What?! Free and rooted? It sounds like an oxymoron. No way! I always thought of freedom as equating to the ability to roam, but no, I was wrong. The cactus is free, but it has roots. This is me. And I'm a little bit prickly to some people, so yeah, I'm a cactus. This is also my son. He is a wild boy and we often refer to him as the Tiny Tornado. He looks like his daddy, but he acts a lot like his mama. Life should be real fun during his teenage years. So, I had to buy this for his room. It doesn't really fit with the theme of our room, but I can live vicariously through this picture while it hangs in his. And maybe it will remind me to give him some grace and mercy as he figures out how to be wild and free, but still rooted.
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