During the pastor’s long-winded prayer Sunday morning I sneaked a glimpse towards the pulpit. There on the table in front was a large bouquet of artificial flowers.
As I pondered those flowers I think I even saw a tiny spiderweb from one fern to another. With a wry smile I reached for my pencil and here’s what I jotted on the back of the Sunday bulletin:
Why I don’t want to be an artificial flower:
No scent. The thing has no fair aroma that stirs the senses, that paints pictures on the minds of the viewer.
No freshness. No need for water’s blessing in a cycle of life.
No reproduction. The thing cannot make other flowers, cannot pass life on.
The thing invites creepy things, like spiders, to set up webs. It gets dusty.
No change. The thing is dead, always has been and always will be.
Then I summarized my thoughts by writing,
I’m glad I’m alive. Life: what a gift from God! Lord, I want to grow and bloom and please you, most of all.
by Elaine Hardt ©2007