I can’t believe they placed me in their grocery cart. I am just a measly flower and quite a bit beat up at that. I can tell she doesn’t care that much for me. I’m orange and wilted and small. I feel insignificant next to the vibrant flowers surrounding me. And she plants me in a flower pot with another flower she likes so much more than me. But I resolve to grow anyway.
I see her water all the other flowers, and I think she might forget me, but she proves me wrong each time. She fills me up with the life-water. She never really looks at me, but I did hear her opinion of me that mid-May day. I’m not that pretty, she said. I’d go well with the other flowers, she decided. Marigolds really aren’t my favorite, she tells her mom.
She was wrapped in herself. It was comfortable and easy. It made sense and felt complacent, but then God called her to the desert. “Of course, I’ll go!”, her enthusiasm burst out still bound tight with expectation.
So she went walking forward with no idea at all. Deserts are big and wide and dry, and she found herself being chipped away. Blistered. Cracked. Split open. Empty spaces demand your attention and she got lost in all of them.
It took awhile, but white knuckle grasping on her life slowly became her hands stretched out receiving any and all God might give her. At first it felt like air, like nothing. Her hands were open and waiting for rain, but blistering sun was His response. That’s what she thought, anyway.
Just a hint of jingle bells, the rest was rustling leaves. Just a smidge of holiday, the rest was preparation. Just a sprinkling of arguments for when Christmas music plays, but mostly welled-up hearts just waiting for the lights.
But in between this holiday, the noise we all know well, were women walking everywhere with burdens hard to bear. Hunched low with breaking backs, their Christmas trees dragged behind and little kids ran vibrant, free. Hunched low with breaking backs their Thanksgiving tables beautifully set for empty, childless homes. Hunched low with breaking backs the music plays aloud, but the loneliness beats louder. Continue reading