Heavenly Flowers

It was Valentine’s Day 2004, and I felt crummy. That’s not to say that I was sick…at least, not physically. Emotionally, on the other hand, I was a mess.

 

That morning, I walked into work surrounded by flowers, balloons, and romantic cards, none of which were addressed to me. Why would they be for me? Single girls don’t get mushy stuff for Valentine’s Day. I found myself longing for the second grade all over again, when the entire class swapped cheap cards with Donald and Daisy Duck on the front, pledging their love for you.



In the second grade, nobody felt unwanted.



Only this wasn’t grade school – this was adulthood, and in adulthood, Valentine’s Day was serious business. Your worth as a woman was based solely upon your relationship status, and being single meant a lousy Valentine’s Day by default. On the flipside, having a special someone meant loads of chocolate, flowers, and possibly a miniature teddy bear or two. In other words, you were cherished, important.



On this particular Valentine’s, I did not feel cherished or important. The woman in the cubicle next to me, however, certainly did. So as not to appear rude, I smiled while she rambled on about the romantic evening her boyfriend planned, but I didn’t hear a word coming out of her mouth. Rather than pay attention, I mentally recited a mantra designed to get me through that wretched day…



“I am single and fierce,” I tried to convince myself.



It didn’t work. I still felt lousy.



Perhaps my disposition would’ve been cheerier had that not been my third Valentine’s Day in a row as a single girl, but it was. For three years, my relationship status consisted of myself and my dog – not a bad combo, but certainly not ideal for a twenty-something gal living on her own. I dated, but I just couldn’t seem to make a connection with anyone. In the Game of Love, I continuously got up to bat, only to strike out once again.



To make matters worse, all of my friends were either dating, getting married, or having babies, and I desperately wanted the same. Their successes in life and love made me feel insignificant, to say the least. It was as though they all formed some secret club, and I lacked the qualifications for membership. Who was I if not someone’s girlfriend, wife, or mother? For the life of me, I could not understand why God forbad me to find love like everyone else, and I quickly grew angry at Him.



That Valentine’s Day, I left work and took that anger out on a bottle of Merlot and a box of chocolate. I sat idly on the couch watching horror movies – my personal protest against the surplus of romantic comedies playing on Prime Time. I may have been forced to join everyone’s love fest in the office, but I refused to do the same on my own time. I was miserable, and I wanted God to know it too.



“Ever since I was little, I prayed for You to send me someone,” I told Him. “Well? Where is he? Why is everyone I know in love, and I’m not? Am I not good enough?”



Just then, through the corner of my eye, I saw a burst of color outside my window. There (on the barren, winter ground) was a patch of wildflowers in every color: red, yellow, orange, and purple. Were it not for the dead nature surrounding them, I wouldn’t have even noticed their presence, but their foreign quality made them magnificent. They were like a mirage in the desert to a thirsty traveler – a sign of life in the face of destitution. They were a miracle that only God could perform.



And that’s when it hit me…they were from God.



For fair measure, I stepped outside and checked around, only to find dry branches and dirt in the vicinity. The sole sign of life was the bouquet planted by my windowsill, and that’s how I knew, understood. In His own, special way, God wished me a Happy Valentine’s Day. He wanted to show me just how much He loved me, which He did by giving me an impossible and beautiful gift.



I finally got my flowers, and so much more.


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