Sunflowers (aka my soul)

I must confess I’m going to start speaking Christian-ese. I fear this will turn some people off from reading my forthcoming blog; but please, do not let that stop you. I will try and make it as non-cliché as possible. However, some things are cliché because they are true, right? Therefore, here I go with my thoughts: I don’t hear God talking to me all the time. It’s kind of a rarity, and I know that’s probably my fault. I don’t always put as much energy into “listening”. I get too distracted doing seemingly Christian things. Ironic much? However, one instance in my life I heard God clearly and it almost brought me to tears. This happened over the summer, but I remember it vividly, and for some reason I thought someone else might want to read it and bear through this lengthy blog. So here’s some background:

The time was May 2008. It was a sunny day in Tanzania, Africa. I was sitting in the back of a rickety old van, sans seatbelts, bouncing all over the place every time the van hit a pothole. (Which let me tell you was quite frequent)  So there I was being exposed to a world so vastly different than I had ever seen reading all the signs like a completely white girl would. “Karibu” the sign in front of me said CARE-EE-BOO, I said almost proud that I was sounding like a native. The missionary just laughed at me- rightfully so.   As we were driving I saw a breathtaking sight…one that doesn’t happen too often in Orange County. One that I could try and take a picture of, but it would never accurately depict what I was seeing. It was fields and fields of sunflowers. Really, you could not imagine more sunflowers swaying around. Now, in my Western mind, I would think they are just there for the enjoyment of people; to look pretty. But in Africa, that seems to be the least of their concerns. This is shown throughout many places…many odd smells…many odd levels of cleanliness.  Being the curious little camper I was, I asked. “Are these flowers just for looks?” Again, another chuckle out of the resident African. She told me that the flowers produced sunflower seeds and oil, which they exported for money.  Now that by itself doesn’t seem like much. In fact, I didn’t think anything about it until months later when I was back in my all-too-comfortable setting of Moorpark (aka Suburbia), California.

My church was doing something pretty charismatic. However, I figured go big or go home, right? So there the pastors were, anointing everyone’s hands with oil praying for God to reveal something to us about ourselves. It was pretty far-fetched, but I though I’d go for it. So there I went: Eyes closed, head tilted upward (as if Heaven is legitimately in outer space), hands raised in a fashion that would look silly outside of any other setting besides the one I was in. With a furrowed brow I prayed. Then I would scrunch my nose and pray again (Yes, a very holy stance) I couldn’t think of anything besides those darn sunflowers. I thought that was what was clouding my mind from hearing God. But after a few more nose scrunches it finally all clicked. I heard God in a voice I will never, ever be able to explain to you say “Talene, YOU are the sunflower, you’re not just something that is bright can bring people happiness, you are useful; I can use you. You have a purpose” I have to tell you, this was pretty earth shattering because I was at a place in my life where I did not have everything together; I was scared and lost. I felt comforted. I felt loved. Dear Jesus, don’t let me ever forget that feeling.

 I am a sunflower.

You are too.