Pinches of yellow fashioned for me. Dandelions. Between my birth and age seventeen, our family moved six times. Each uprooting took with it a memory. Some good--some not so good. One thing that stands out in my mind is the stability of the dandelion. The flowers I gathered by the handfuls at every place I lived. I'd bring them in and put them in a mason jar and fill it up with water.
Flowers. For the most part, they're considered a nuisance. And for folks who prefer a pristene green lawn, they are burdensome to control once they sprout--dandelions are weeds. Others make salads with the leaves. Actually, they are pretty tasty to add to a bowl of lettuce. But whenever I see one, as I did yesterday, I think of the simple things of life. I think of exactly what I did yesterday, I picked it and gave it to my two year-old granddaughter, HayJae. Just passing along one of life's simple pleasures. It doesn't belong to me; but surely I can share it as long as I'm here.
The reason we moved so many times when I was young is due, in part, to the instability of my dysfunctional childhood. But no matter where we moved, the dandelion seemed to move with us. I recall so many times I'd play with those soft-petaled flowers. They were jewels in my treasure box, veggies in my pots, and even necklaces strung on a string. A child sees beauty and value in what others may view as ugly and worthless. A child finds love in the fields of life when love gets lost in the mundane tasks of life.
Dandelions. Golden gifts from earth burst forth from green fields. Created to dot our landscapes with pleasure. I found another huge dandelion and also gave it to HayJae. She immediately took it and blew. Tiny black seeds flew from a cotton-puff cluster and danced in the breeze like tiny ballerinas. I managed to snap a few pictures before the seeds disappeared from the stem she held in her hand. She giggled and said, "I want another one." I searched but found none around. I laughed to myself, as I thought of all the seeds she'd sown in the wind and I knew we'd have plenty come Spring.
Yes, God is the lender, I am the borrower. And what He's created rests in my memory with peace beyond measure and I'll own it till He calls me home. [copyrighted, selahVtoday, 2007]