Flowers for a Grave

The sun peaked over the sandy hill behind our house. The last frost of the year had melted away, and now a   blanket of dandelions covered the very top.  She was so excited to finally wear her favorite pink sundress. She twirled and danced, skimming her feet through the plush grass, proving that it was absurd for me to ask her to

wear shoes. She started to pick the dandelions. Some were plain yellow, while others were white and fluffy. She was very meticulous.  With every pluck, a new singsong echoed from her lips. She trilled the dandelions with her fingers and clasped them to her heart.

“Mommy, where is Jesus buried?” she asked.

“He isn’t buried. He is alive, remember?”

“But he was in a tomb?” she asked.

“Yes, but it is far away…and empty.” She looked down at the dandelions and her face fell.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I wanted to put these on his grave.” she sniffed.

My heart swelled.

“You can still give them to Jesus. You can put them anywhere, and he will know they are from you.” She perked up. “You know, sweetie. Those aren’t really flowers. They are weeds. Don’t you think we should find some real flowers?  Maybe some that are more colorful?”

Tears sprung to her eyes instantly. What had I done? How could I turn such a beautiful, innocent moment, and stupidly destroy it with intellectual drivel?

“But…it is all I have,” she whimpered.

I scooped her up in my arms and kissed her cheek.

“And it is the greatest gift Jesus could ask for.” I whispered. “Let’s go give your beautiful flowers to Jesus.”

Joy overcame her face once again and she raced down the hill, her dress flipping with every bright, skipping step.

We said a short prayer. She took one white dandelion from the bouquet, stuck it behind her ear and placed the rest of the flowers at the foot of the hill. She then held that last dandelion in her hands for quite some time, like she was waiting for something wonderful.

“Are you going to make a wish?” I asked.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, “That would be very selfish of me.”

Still, she blew on the flower, until the seeds were whisked away by the spring breeze. “I want everyone to have Jesus’ flowers.” I squeezed her hand and told her that she was kind and wise.  I hadn’t noticed that a solitary, fuzzy blossom clung to the stem. It drooped and fought against the breeze. She plucked it, and put it in my hand.
“And one for you too!” She beamed.

Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid.
John 19:41 KJV

The flowers appear on the earth once again; The time for singing has come, And the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.
Song of SOLOMON 2:12 AMP

The angel spoke to the women: “There is nothing to fear here. I know you’re looking for Jesus, the One they nailed to the cross. He is not here. He was raised, just as he said. Come and look at the place where he was placed. Matthew 28:5‭-‬6 MSG

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