How Did I Get Here, And Where Is The Next Turn?

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Brought up Mar 16, 2014

Stealing a Piece of Spring

Beside our house is a vacant lot that was once the site of a home long gone. There are no hints of a foundation, nor driveway, only an abandoned well filled in with chunks of rock. Yet, every spring, for 17 years now, I've watched a row of my favorite flowers appear, seemingly over night where once a home stood.

My own lawn has a few scrawny buttercups, daffodils to others outside the South, but there are rarely more than one or two blossoms. I have often looked across to that profusion of bright yellow flowers and longed to have them growing on my yard.

I sometimes wonder about those flowers. What was the woman like who planted them? It almost had to be a woman, as most men don't bother much with flowers. I think of the love and care she might have given them, maybe even taking in a handful inside to brighten her day.

It makes me a little sad that those flowers may be all that's left of that woman, probably long gone from this world. And still, her flowers bloom.

The other day, I noticed that the buttercups were back, all bright and gay in the vacant lot. Few probably even notice them as they raise their glorious little crowns to the sky, our first hint of spring on its way, but I do. I have since the first year we moved here.

I did something the other day that I have longed to do, but never had the courage until now. I was coming home from an errand, and saw them, cheery and bright, in that empty, abandoned place. I came into the house, grabbed a pair of scissors and marched over like I owned the place.

I was careful not to make any thin spots, just in case someone would be offended, though I doubt anyone would even notice. I didn't even count how many I cut. Not many, maybe a dozen or less.

When I returned home, I debated on what to put my new stolen treasures into to keep them alive, and settled for a jar I have that is actually the glass part of an antique sugar dispenser from when diners and such would have the sugar on the table. The lid was long gone when it came into my possession, but I love it's shape. It now sits next to out television where I can see those simple, yet somehow elegant little flowers when ever I want.

The flowers will eventually wilt and die, I know, but for the few days that they bless me, I smile.

I think I just might make it a habit of having flowers in that jar from now on, even if I have to break down and buy them for myself. I can't explain it, but when I look at those flowers, I feel a kind of peace inside.

Maybe that's a little odd, or maybe that is why God made flowers in the first place. A little bit of His peace and love for anyone willing to notice and to enjoy.

Something to think about...


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