I came across this story I wrote about my grandson six years ago. I wanted to post it so he can read it. I'm including a picture I sketched of the flower, and a photo I took of him that day. I love all my granchildren, but Hunter taught me what it is to be a Grandmother. I love you Hunter.
My grandson Hunter, four years old, lives in Alabama and comes to visit a few times a year. He loves to play at the park down the street, and especially enjoys the water playground, swings and jungle gym. Hunter also loves bugs. His likes roly-polies the best, but since we don’t have many around our house, he settles for snails. When he was visiting in May, I took him down to a little pond behind the park to see if we could find some roly-polies. It was a beautiful, sunny day and I got some excellent pictures of Hunter amongst all the spring wildflowers blooming. He kept asking me if he could pick the flowers, and I kept explaining that we should try not to pick them because they would die and wouldn’t be pretty any more. “But I want to take some to my Mommy,” he insisted.
I tried to explain to him how flowers, once you picked them, could not “eat” and “drink” through their roots, so they would just fade away. I told him we would take pictures for his Mommy so she could see how pretty they were. Hunter wasn’t convinced, but the prospect of having his picture taken appealed to him. So he sat down by a clump of Indian Paintbrushes and said, “Gram, take a picture of me and these pretty orange flowers.”
I took several of my favorite little muse, as he posed by first smelling the flowers, then petting them, and even hugging and kissing them. Finally we had enough and it was time to go look for bugs. But as Hunter stood up, the strap of the binoculars he was wearing got wrapped around one of the flowers, snapping it off just above the ground. He carefully disentangled the flower and held it out toward me. “Uh oh Gram, look. I didn’t mean to, it was a accident.”
"It's okay" I said, “you wanted to take one home, so we'll just keep that one. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” I helped him make his way back over to the trail, brushed him off, gave him a kiss and said, “C'mon, let’s go find some roly polies.” Cradling the flower gently in both hands, he followed me on the narrow trail around the pond. “But Gram,” he said, “I don’t want it to die and not be pretty any more.” I stopped and turned around. “Sweetie,if we don’t take it home, it'll die anyway. This way we can take it and put it in some water and show it to Pop and Aunt Lissa.” Hunter nodded, but he was walking slower and slower, concern written all over his little face. “Come on slow poke,” I teased him, “We’re never going to find any bugs if we don't get a move on.” Suddenly, he stopped and placed the flower gently on the ground next to the trail. “What are you doing?” I asked him. He looked up at me, “I’m gonna leave it here Gram. So it won’t die and not be pretty and everybody can still see it.”
I looked at my grandson. Fifteen minutes earlier he had been arguing with me about picking the flowers. I didn’t think he had heard a thing I was trying to tell him. Now I could see how closely he had been listening, and how much he had taken to heart. Oh, I knew that sad little flower would just shrivel up and die, but I was so proud of him for trying to do the right thing, and I could see that he felt good about his decision. I squatted down next to Hunter, and we looked at his little flower. “You know" I said, I think you're absolutely right. I think if we just leave it right here where it belongs, it will just have to grow some more roots and be just fine.” “Yeah,” he sighed. Then he looked up and smiled. “Now we can go, Gram.” He didn’t ask to pick a flower for the rest of the day, but enjoyed them right where they were.
Such a little thing. But isn’t that where it starts? If we aren’t willing to sacrifice our will over the trivial things in our lives, how can we learn to do the right thing when it’s really important? Like a stubborn child, we grapple with God, trying to bend him to our will, justifying our own selfish desires even when we know it’s wrong. But if we will simply accept God’s will in all things, if we listen to the Holy Spirit speaking to our hearts, if our actions reflect Christ’s love, then we will live a life that we can be proud of. Not proud in a noisy, boastful, “look at me” sort of way; but in a quiet, content, “right with the world,” way.
Good and gracious God, thank you for the relationships you bless me with. Thank you for the joy I feel when I am with friends and family. Help me to look forward to time with you the same way. Because it is in your presence that I find the greatest joy and peace. Give me the self-discipline to make time to be still and know that you are God. To sit quietly and be renewed by your Spirit. To walk and talk with Jesus. To remember that I am your creation, a human "being," and should not forever be a human "doing." Amen.
Yes, Carol, you remembered correctly, it was a small aneurysm, but it gave me stroke-like symptoms. You also know me well enough to know of some of the memories I cringe at too.
ReplyDeleteMy husband Bill was diagnosed with Stage IV colorectal cancer four years ago this month. At the time of the diagnosis, a PET scan showed not only the initial site of the colon cancer, but five additional tumors located in Bill's liver. The gastroenterologist suggested that Bill had four months, outside possibility of six months to live. He advised us to go home, enjoy the time we had left and wait to die.
Now you’ve got to understand, Bill’s cup is always overflowing, mine is always half empty. He is the natural optimist, I am the eternal pessimist. During that first year of repeated chemotherapies, surgeries, and sickness, I constantly felt a gut-wrenching angst that grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. I went on Cymbalta, and it has helped me tremendously. I don’t think I could physically cope without an antidepressant.
During one of Bill’s hospital stays, he ruptured stitches and was rushed into emergency surgery, fecal matter spilling into his abdominal cavity. At midnight, while Bill was being prepped, I looked for the hospital chapel. I walked in, sat down, and felt totally overwhelmed. I cried. I cried a lot. Then I said, “God, I need help. I need to pray but I don’t know how. I can’t remember. I cannot even remember The Lord’s Prayer.” Tears were streaming down my face when I looked around for a tissue. There, on the wall immediately to my right was a beautifully embroidered, golden threaded tapestry of The Lord’s Prayer.
I stood there, reading the words over and over, until calmness came over me, literally flooding me in acceptance. I felt God’s love in a way I had never experienced anything in my entire life. I felt an exhilaration of emotions, but more than anything, I felt secure and I felt loved.
Later that night, Dr. Thompson, the surgeon, explained to me that Bill’s sickest day would be when he woke up. The doctor prepared me for the worst, but when I walked into SICU the next morning, Bill was sitting up in bed, complaining that the staff was starving him, and that his ribs were knawing at his backbone. He went home four days later.
We have thoroughly enjoyed these last few years, and I am so exceptionally thankful for re-discovering the Lord’s Prayer, the Bible, and my belief system. Bill is the most spiritual man I’ve ever known.
But, and it’s a huge BUT . . . I am terrified now. I feel literally petrified. I lost my security, my calmness, my understanding that all is well because it’s in God’s hands. Now I am afraid. Something has been discovered in Bill’s lung, and frankly, the doctors aren’t certain at all what it might be. They won’t know for sure until surgery.
Last night, I dreamed. I was sitting on the beach, watching the sunset. I was alone. My house was being foreclosed, I was scared, but most of all, Bill was gone. I looked off into the sky and I asked God, “Why?” In my sleep I heard the answer, “You know why.” And I woke up screaming “No, I don’t! I don’t know, I don’t understand!” Then I realized I wasn’t screaming at all, I was simply awake, and Bill was peacefully asleep next to me.
That dream has shattered me. Today I have been a nervous wreck. I am terrified. I try to say “God’s will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.” I’ve probably repeated that phrase twenty times today. But still, I feel exhausted, emotionally spent, and physically down. Please pray for me, and continue praying for Bill. Somehow, I think that God is asking me to ask you to teach me. I think this Lenten ritual might be as much for me as you. Thank you for sending me the link, and thank you for letting me share.
Carol, what a wonderful story about your grandson Hunter. Jerry and Patrick told me about your blog last night during our small group. The way you told your story put me right there. What a wonderful lesson and memory. God truly does speak to us powerfully through the mouths and actions of children if only we take the time, as you did to really listen to and observe them. Thank you for sharing. Reading it was a blessing, as are you.
ReplyDeleteGod's Grace and Peace to you.