Bramasole

I have loved sunflowers ever since I was a little girl. I’m not sure what turned me on to them, but I remember it quickly becoming an obsession. For years my favorite restaurant was an Italian joint called Girasole (“sunflower” in Italian), simply because the dining room was decorated with sunflowers… okay and the garlic bread was to die for. By middle school, my bedroom had been transformed into what can only be described as a Mervyn’s ad meets craft show booth. My bedspread, curtains, and dust ruffle were a matching set; bright yellow sunflowers burst forth from the polyester fabric like they had a life of their own. My shelves were covered in a plethora of sunflower knick-knacks, all purchased from local craft shows my mom dragged me to. It didn’t stop there though. I had a poster of a baby dressed as a sunflower displayed prominently on my wall, (Anne Geddes was all the rage back then), and I distinctly remember the pair of oversized sunflower earrings I wore with everything, whether I was donning the matching romper or not. Not that you asked, but the earrings were clip-on, (because I wasn’t dorky enough already). I had sunflower stationery sets and a growing rubber stamp collection of sunflowers, all neatly stored in a tote basket that was, of course, lined with sunflower-patterned fabric. I realize now it was overkill. (I also realize I didn’t have a boyfriend until after my sunflower phase had died off, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence.)

I may have grown out of sunflower-themed home decor and apparel, but they still remain my favorite flower. I request them every year for my birthday, and I love when my kids draw me pictures of their sunflower interpretations. A few years ago my daughter recreated Monet’s famous Sunflowers painting; it was so beautiful I had it framed and gave it a permanent home in our family room. There’s something about them that makes me happy, whether I see them in the floral department at the grocery store or growing in a neighbor’s yard. Did you know there are more than seventy varieties of sunflower? They vary in size, texture, and autumnal hues. They’re all so beautiful I can’t possibly pick a favorite. I love that they are both summer and fall flowers. I love that their stems are thick and sturdy, posturing tall and proud as they stand out above the rest. I especially love that they follow the sun. In the mornings, sunflowers will face east, the direction of the rising sun. As the sun moves across the sky the heads of the sunflowers follow it. They never forget how much they rely on the sun’s light to thrive.

One of my favorite movies, Under the Tuscan Sun, is about an American author who decides on a whim to purchase a villa in Tuscany, Italy. The name of the villa is what entices her to buy it: Bramasole. In Italian, it comes from the word brama (to yearn for) and sole (the sun). The author, Frances, is coming out of a painful divorce and is metaphorically yearning for the sun herself. It’s a beautiful film about choosing to face the sun, about pointing yourself bravely and boldly toward the light. (Sidenote: I had the pleasure of visiting the little village of Cortona, Italy where the film was made. My dad and I ventured up the hill beyond the town square to get a glimpse of the real Bramasole villa. It was just as beautiful as I imagined it would be.) I’m currently taking a World Mythology class and I recently learned that sunflowers symbolize loyalty and adoration, thanks to the myth of Clytie and Apollo. How appropriate. The relationship sunflowers have with the sun is best described as both loyal and adoring. They faithfully follow the sun, treasuring every bit of light they can absorb. May we look at sunflowers as bright, happy reminders to do the same.

Helen Keller once wrote, “Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadows. It's what the sunflowers do.” What if we never forgot to face our Father, to fix our gaze on Him throughout the day, sun up to sun down? I believe the shadows would cease to exist for us too; the lies of the enemy would be so far beneath us that we wouldn’t even see them. What would happen to our posture, our confidence, and our outlook on life if we yearned for God the way sunflowers yearned for the sun? I believe we would stand taller, our feet planted firmly in His truth, refusing to be blown about by the winds of change. What if we eagerly awaited the presence of God our Father the way sunflowers await the rising sun? I believe we would open our hearts to a fresh and holy perspective. I believe we would bloom and flourish.

My visit to Tuscany was during the fall, and I was disappointed to see that the famous fields of sunflowers that grow in the area were no longer in full bloom. Our guide explained that in autumn when the sunflowers get ripe and heavy with seeds, they stop moving. Until they are harvested they will only face east. I understood completely. We’re like this too, aren’t we? When we get weighed down with worry, grief, and discouragement, the heaviness keeps us from looking up. In those seasons we find ourselves waiting for the harvest, waiting for God to relieve us of the burdens we carry. The waiting can feel so long, the time spent with our heads turned away from the light so dim. We hang on to the hope that God is always at work. The harvest will come. But what will become of the load we shoulder? That’s when we remember that like sunflowers, the burdens we carry are actually seeds.

Seeds that have been harvested from the weary heads of a sunflower are planted in the late spring when the soil is warm. I love that. Even underground they are basking in the warmth, eagerly awaiting their day in the sun. God does the same with the things that weigh us down. After relieving us of our load He tenderly repurposes each seed, knowing from them will spring new life and new opportunities to face the sun. Next time we see a sunflower, may the word bramasole come to mind. May we yearn for God the way sunflowers crave the sun. May we keep our face toward Him, following Him throughout the day. May we be too transfixed on His light to notice the shadows below. When our hearts feel heavy may we wait patiently for the harvest to come.

“My soul yearns for you in the night; in the morning my spirit longs for you.”

Isaiah 26:9