My sweet baby James has a secret admirer.
She is 85 years to his 7 months but she is smitten nonetheless. And knowing his sweet cheeks the way I do, I can scarcely blame her.
He is pure, scrumptious delight.
So we pick flowers, the first lilacs of the spring. If one wants to bring a friend a piece of heaven, the first spring lilacs with their deep wooing fragrance are as close as one could hope to come this side of dear Peter’s gate.
To breathe deep what is holy here on earth.
We wrap our flowers for her, our admirer, our Miss Shirley, in a scrap of leftover linen. We add a piece of baker’s twine.
And oh how they do make her day! These flowers, my boy, this gift. A tiny bit of cheer that means everything that is good still reigns.
Yes, flowers grow here and love lives here and God is present and real like the sweet scent of creation and the way a babe’s hand fits soft and smooth like butter into the palm of a hand wrinkled with 85 years of age.
Thank you, Miss Shirley for admiring my babe. Thank you for smiling as you do when my 3 year-old hands you our clutch of spring, his eyes shy with pride and love, shadowed beneath the bill of his baseball cap. Thank you for loving us well, because God is love and love reigns here.
Yes, love reigns here in this decidedly lovely life.