When God Sends you Flowers

I have a friend who laughs at me. Or with me. All because of something I said when I was the foolish age of 17. I told her I really didn't care if some guy ever sent me flowers. After all, they just die. A book would be much better. I can have that until the day I go to Heaven - and then leave it to my kids. (Who, you're probably right, will sell them on e-bay. Or whatever they'll have in 50 years.)

My perspective on that subject has changed a bit. Not because I don't still think a book is nicer than flowers, but I've realized it's the thought that counts. And thoughts are wonderful, although I don't need flowers to know someone is thinking about me. Other things work just as well - and better.

So, yes, all of this has a point. Back in March, I was starting to plan a trip to New Hampshire. Last time I went in February to enjoy a real winter. This time I considered May in order to see my beloved lilacs. (Which do not grow in Texas, horrible place that it can be.) But a friend is getting married in June. Support the friend? Or see the lilacs? I honestly didn't know until my dear friend Allyson (who is sister of the bride) asked if I would come up in June for the wedding. She and the bride want me to do the absolute best job in the entire world: watch and entertain Allyson's soon-to-be-five-children so she can make the cake. Who could turn down a job like that? I didn't even think twice and bought my tickets a few weeks later. I'm going to New Hampshire in June.

So while I will enjoy as many hours as possible playing chase, and blowing bubbles, and telling stories to Caleb, Violet, Seth, Silas and ???; I will miss the lilacs. Perhaps that is why I put a picture of them on my work computer. But, then, last week a friend told me, "I smelled lilacs when I stepped outside my apartment. They reminded me of home."

"You did not," I replied. "Lilacs don't grow in Texas."

"I did. I know I did. I smelled them back home in Pittsburgh all the time."

My hopes rose. Could it be the state of Texas did possess one lone lilac bush? Well, my friend and I were out walking during this discussion. Several streets later, my friend stopped to smell something.

"What?" I asked.

"That," my friend answered and pointed up. "That is what I smelled at my apartment. Lilacs."

Correction. It was a tree, not a bush. And while the purple flowers did smell like lilacs, they don't look like them. I picked some and looked them up online the next day. Over 3 million hits and an hour later, I tracked them down: Chinaberry. Or, the Persian Lilac.

I feel like God has sent me flowers. Yet again, I will pass another spring and will not enjoy the beauty of lilacs. But I can enjoy the smell. Here at the office as I picked some more and put them in a cup. And back at home where I will take some and place them in a vase. And I will think of how much God loves me. For even in Texas, He sends me flowers.