Spring is here. Blossoms have shot up on the orange trees in our yard; everything is growing and cycles are starting anew, and somewhere in California’s Antelope Valley lies fields of poppies.

I’ve never harbored a particular affinity towards spring.

It was always winter where, ironically, I felt like I thrived most. The hunkering down indoors to the pitter-patter of rain outside, the long cozy evenings, the mustard-yellows and rusts and reds. Summer, well ... summer is hot. And autumn is simply the entrance to the winter that I love. So there we have it. My relationship with the four seasons in a nutshell.

I’m blessed to live in a city that nurses a mild, ifI’ve never harbored a particular affinity towards spring wet, winter, and the springs that have been following the Los Angeles downpours have yielded richer, greener, more vivid color than ever. Apparently, we are experiencing a wildflower season like never before. They even made up a word for it: a “superbloom.”

I keep hearing about the wildflowers that are carpeting the fields in areas an hour away from me—stunning visions of poppies and daisies, and clusters of blue and purple as far as the eye can see. Flowers sprouting out of seemingly nowhere; there is no one actively ploughing those fields and sowing the seeds. They fly with the wind, unplanned and unguided, yet landing just so and creating a thing of beauty.

So I do some research and find out about my own local wildflower paradises. I gather snacks and drinks, and we set out to discover the wildflower frenzy that has so many in their grip. On the way, I read the small script describing the hike we are about to take, and I realize there is no way that we will end up at the magazine photo-worthy display we are setting out for—it’s more than 2.5 miles into the trail.

But we go anyway, hoping for a pretty hike, ready to collect rocks, see some beautiful views and maybe, perhaps, a few wildflowers.

And we do. The hike we have chosen is well-shaded and mostly flat. Two minutes in, we bump into a crop of yellow wildflowers hanging out along the edge of the path.

“See? We found wildflowers!”

Though obviously not quite the luscious, wall-to-wall rainbow we were imagining, there was a certain satisfaction, a quiet wonder at the flowers.

“How did they get here?” My oldest asks.

“The wind carried them here,” I explain. “The seeds from other flowers are lifted into the air and they travel all over, landing in fields and waiting for the rain. This year, there was so much rain, and now there are so many flowers!”

Our girls run their hands through the tall grass, pick some flowers and are almost framed in their beauty.

Be a wildflower, I tell them silently.

Grow where you are planted, carried by the wind. Land in wet, moist earth or in dry cracked dirt; wait for the rain, and let yourself be nourished by it. Take every opportunity you can for growth. Push yourself, push your beauty to the forefront. It might not always be simple, it might not always be the best environment, and there might not always be enough rain.

But you were meant to land there, for that is where the wind carried you. Each flower so carefully placed by G‑d, sprouting roots in a place orchestrated by Divine providence. “The steps of man are ordered by G‑d.” (Psalm 37:23) Each seemingly random seed is part of a master plan of beauty, guided by an invisible Hand naked to our human eye, yet orchestrating a miracle of growth and rebirth.

And if each tiny seed has a mission, then surely you,You will grow; you will flourish my daughters, have a reason for each place you visit on this journey called life. And you will grow; you will flourish when you realize that this is your purpose: to be filled with inner beauty. To bloom your brightest color and make those around you filled with joy and wonder.

When you feel trampled on, or feel like you are withering in the summer sun, or see other flowers around you that seem prettier, taller and stronger, all I ask is that you not give up. That you wait for the endless heat to give away to the crispness of autumn. That you spread roots all winter and poke a hole in the ground at the first sign of spring, and send a shout- out to the world that you are here, you are ready.

Be a wildflower, my girls. Bloom bright, bloom strong, bloom beautiful.