One Brilliant Show

Flowers.

Mom has always had a passion for flowers. She believed they could brighten any drab room, liven any conversation, and change any dour mood. For 20 years, she took this vision earnestly each Sunday at the First Baptist Church. As the flower coordinator, she turned the plain wood altar at the front of the church into a dazzling display of God’s creation.

A negligible budget prevented floral shop arrangements, only provoking the creative mind of this resourceful woman. Every Saturday we would search the mountain countryside for willows and lilacs and wild flowers. Old dirt roads, creek beds — and even abandoned graveyards– were sources we would use.

The cold winters limited our natural flower gathering, so Mom utilized her for dried collections, pulled from boxes stacked high in the garage. Her delightful displays, no matter the season, were often the subject of talk after church more than the sermons.

During the winter, Mom raised daffodils in pots that lined her kitchen window. Each day she watered, fed, and fertilized — all in preparation for one brilliant show on the church altar. Mom would always pick a spring day when the snow was deep, but the sun brilliant. With tender care Mom would clip the daffodils from her pots in the window. The shoots were full and ready to burst, their tops still wrapped tight in the leafy envelope.

The buds were placed in a simple glass vase full of warm water, placed on the altar hours before anyone else arrived. I was perplexed that the buds were still tightly wound, yet mom’s beguiling smile told me not to be concerned. As the time drew near, the church members traipsed through flowing gutters and slushy sidewalks, and ducked streaming icicles from the roof edge as they entered.

The service began as had a hundred others, with the usual announcements and welcomes to visitors. Imperceptibly at first, then with amazing swiftness the buds began to open. By time the service was over, the daffodils had exploded into a panoply of color. The miracle of flowers, generated by an eternal God who did not leave us in a drab, cold world, was on full display.

After all these years, I realized that Mom treated her children much like those daffodils. There were many times my siblings and I thought we were overly protected, sheltered and prevented from living normal ‘fun’ lives like all of our friends.

What we didn’t realize is that she was really preparing us to bloom. Now that we have progressed to adulthood, her long labor of love is finally fulfilled. With dirt on her hands, this blessed woman places her children on the altar, an offering to her Maker.