A HOME FOR THE JONQUILS

It was a cold night. I was mentally and physically tired and felt quite depressed. Customers in the store where I work had been cross and bothersome; tempers had been sharp all day; nothing had gone right. I was glad it was six o’clock and I could go home and relax.

I stopped at the corner store for some groceries, and even the clerk matched the mood of the day. Grumpily he said, “Hurry up, lady, I want to go home too.” As I was leaving the store, I noticed a single bunch of jonquils in a bucket of water; they were huddled together as though they were lonely and

cold. They seemed to say, “Please, lady, take us home.” They were so beautiful, yet so out of place. I snatched them up, paid the clerk, and left.

As I walked the short distance to my home, my step was lighter and my previously dampened spirit rose. Upon entering my dark room, I was struck with the golden brilliance of the flowers. As I tenderly placed them in a vase, I seemed to hear them say, “But this isn’t our home.”

I couldn’t explain the feeling, but I had a strong impulse to take the flowers to my shut-in neighbor across the hall. As I entered her room, the shut-in stared for a moment, then said, “How did you know? All day in my memories I’ve been walking among the jonquils in the garden I had years ago.”

As I placed the flowers into her trembling hands, I had the distinct impression that their heads nodded in approval, and as I left, I seemed to hear their golden bells ringing out their thanks.

Feeling warm and happy inside, I forgot all the upsets of the day and again felt in tune with God. Do flowers talk? Yes, they do, I heard them.