Richard Foster compares a mother thrilled to get a wilted bouquet of dandelions from her child, to God celebrating our feeble expressions of gratitude.

When I read Mr. Foster's quote, at first all I thought about was flowers, but I believe he may have been talking about more than pretty bouquets.


In our country The floral industry is huge. Other cultures don't understand why and when we send flowers. I don't understand why more flowers are sent to dead people, than to live ones.

Flowers mean many things to me, daffodils I saw at Grand Pa's back door, and the absence of them where Mom and Dad lived. Except for flowers growing near our outhouse, I didn't understand why some grew, and others didn't.

Although I'd love a suprise bouquet, I realize the best ones may not be beautiful or wrapped so lovely. Sometimes dandelions will do.

When our marriage was dead but not yet buried, one morning I woke up and saw a single long stem yellow rose on my dresser. It wasn't like him to send flowers, and he hadn't.

I never understood why, but a young son had left the rose. Hoping to hold us together? I'll never know. He shouldn't have had to feel so concerned.


That was so long ago, but what I remember most is the rose.

Other bouquets may be more disquised, a caring nurse washing my face with a cool wet cloth, after I had a baby.

My cleaning up a patient when she couldn't toilet herself. Not all of life, maybe not even much of it, is under the fingernails clear and sanitary.


Like some who wish their lives had been better, and they had had indoor plumbing, God doesn't expect rigid and extreme perfection. Sometimes love will do, but

at least their flowers flourished. I can't help hoping some of them were roses, even if daffodils would do.