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Flowers Don’t Forget
Sally’s large extended family of hard-working farmers had been born for generations in metal bathtubs at the hand of volunteer midwives, sometimes by candlelight. Like their crops, her relatives respected seasonal dormancy, growth, and harvest, and remained undaunted by rogue storms or long winters knowing God provides what is right and best. The family’s unspoken mantra? “Expect life to be hard, but good, and you won’t be disappointed.”
However, the year Sally turned fifteen, she was lured by a more modern-sounding, financially successful, big city lifestyle. She could leave and become a store clerk or governess, or even a singer on stage! Sally determined to live in the city and seek her fortune there. Her heart entertained rebellious visions until she become a weedy mutant among her farming family.
Simultaneously, Sally’s mother cultivated her usual flowerbed of perennials - a place where she spoke with the Father, soaked up His beauty, and watched and planned for His inevitable cycles. The day Sally rode away in a second-hand buggy drawn by an old mare, determined to leave her heritage behind, the Shasta daisies sadly nodded good-bye from beside the old brick farmhouse.
Meanwhile, the deeply rooted-and-grounded daisies persevered as encouragers. Sally’s mother opened her heart to them as the long weeks passed with no word from the city. “I’m losing hope!” Her tears pelted the receptive blossoms. “She’s been uprooted, lured, and held captive by worldliness! I fear she is lost – utterly, completely LOST!”
The profuse stand of head-bobbing daisies seemed ready and eager to reply. “In time, Sally will return – to the Father, if not to you.” Sally’s mother cocked her head to one side and listened with her heart. “Your daughter may try to forget her upbringing and graft into another lifestyle.” She nodded affirmatively as tears once again welled up in her eyes. “But remember this: flowers don’t forget their roots.”
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