“Thank you, sweet girl. You know Dandelions are Mama’s favorite, right?”
My favorite flower hasn’t always been a Dandelion. One of my dearest friends from High School became a florist and introduced me to the wide world of flowers. Reds, oranges, yellows, violets, and pinks. Our God is so creative. I’m not gonna lie. I still love a beautiful bouquet of pink roses that scream FTD, but nothing the florist could deliver captures my heart like one picked by a hand I love.
Lilacs are arranged in our every day, barrel glass cut with a Gerber pocket knife by a hand calloused from hard work and smeared with grease from the day’s unexpected trials. Fragrant and sweet purple lovelies. My Farmboy brings them home every spring and leaves them on the center of my table just to say, “I love you.”
Vibrant orange tiger lilies arrive with no stem at all and I struggle to stifle the laugh that bubbles up. They just picked one of the heirloom flowers we wait all year to enjoy. My sweet friend and grandmother in love gave me these charming delights that are well over one hundred years old. They belonged to my Farmer’s grandfather’s grandmother and have been on the farm bring nurtured from generation to generation. We wait for them to spring forth from the earth each year with anticipation, there is nothing as anticipated in our landscape. So, as the girls come running in with tiny flower in hand, no stem for vase, I know this one is to only be enjoyed for this short time. How can I be disappointed with the gift? They brought me the lovely, and deemed me worthy of such a beautiful gift. They come with our best and I’m so pleased.
Tonight I stare out into my yard, full to the brim with Dandelions in bloom, I choose to see the lovely. The yard is ripe with weeds able to creep in and steal joy, but these I will call gift because they bring joy and opportunity for love to be spoken without words.