Awww... a beautiful boquet of forget-me-nots from my little girl. She gave these to me a few weeks ago, but as I'm somewhat slow at loading pics onto the computer, I'm only now getting a look at them again. Ever since these flowers, I've received plenty of dandelions, indian paint brushes, and other assorted weeds from around the yard.
The bouquets aren't much. Scragly, wilted, half-opened weeds that prove the lawn really does need a mowing. But in the eyes of little children, they are beautiful, spectacular blooms rushed inside to me with love. "Mom, do you like these?" And... how can I not think are beautiful?
I've always been the sentimental one. All of my dolls had to sleep with me, lest one felt left out. When my dog died, I thought the world might as well end. Most birthday cards, notes, or letters I've ever recieved are tucked away, saved, and I can't bear to throw them away.
So backyard bouquets held out by a grubby little hand? I'm smitten. I wouldn't trade them for a million long stem roses. Because kids are little for such a short time... and I know all too well that this phase passes in a flury of minutes... and so quickly they forget to bring mom dandelions because all too soon they grow up and start to see those golden blooms as pesky weeds that stain fingers and shirts like so many of us adults.
As adults we become desensitized by bills and payments and work and car troubles. We sometimes forget that teddy bears and blankies have feelings because we are too consumed in our grown-up troubles. Childhood is such a precious time. It should be a time of innocence and imagination: free of worry and doubt. And even though as adults we cannot return to those simple states completely, we can look at our children to remind us when to slow down, when to really look and see all of God's beauty around us in the midst of struggles. When to reach out, to laugh, to be goofy, to cry so simply without reservations.
And when to stop and pick dandelion bouquets.