Even if it looks like something isn't moving, it is. One of my daughter's favorite animals is the sloth, because of his lethargic ways. She finds them endearing. The excruciatingly gradual growth in a garden can be frustrating if you are eager for vegetables. I hear bamboo makes progress that is visible to the naked eye. Maybe I should get some. For inspiration. 

The church service on Sunday was about sunflowers. We watched a time lapse video of a field of yellow heads tracking the sun across the sky. Then when the light disappeared, they swiveled back again in anticipation of a new dawn. All of them. Thousands and thousands in a meadow. 

The discussion involved how we fare at following the Source of light in our own routines. Do we crane our necks to watch where He leads? What if it entails moving? Inertia has its hold on me, making migration inconvenient. 

Why is it that children love to be in motion, while we oldsters are sedentary? It can be hard to convince a three year old to be still, even with bribes like candy. I did my share of sweet talking, to get kids to sit through a performance, or in the dentist's chair. It was a relief when it was over and they could run like the wind, as they were meant to. 

It turns out that sunflowers slow down too. Mature blossoms no longer face the moving sun. Instead they point east, which enables them to warm up. Bees like warmth, so these petals attract five times as many pollinators as the ones that are in motion. It reminds me of the wise women I sometimes visit, just to bask in the glow of their long lives. 

A person in the congregation posed a question.

"What makes the sunflowers move back? It is not the heliotropism that pulls the young blooms."

Another man knew the answer. 

"Elasticity. The plant is stretched toward the sun all day, and at night is pulled back again." It sounds like there is memory within the stem. 

I hope that such a muscle memory will always bring me home again.