Bouquet of Dandelions

I’ve had many excellent theology teachers, but the best ones were my children.

When they were young, they would often pick dandelions and give them to Diane. I can still see their beaming faces as they entered our house with their offering. There was no doubt in their mind that their mother would be delighted with it. Diane would hug the children and thank them for the beautiful gift. She would then take the already drooping bouquet of sad looking flowers and ceremoniously put it in a vase just as she did with the roses I occasionally bought her.

At that time, we lived in the rectory of our parish, a late nineteenth century house. The ceiling of the dining room was 5 meters high. There was a majestic winding staircase leading to the second floor just outside that dining room. There was also a second stairwell leading into the kitchen adjoining this dining room. That stairwell had no doubt been used by the servants at the beginning of the last century and was very steep and as high as the dining room ceiling.

One morning, I had just finished coming down that steep stairwell, when I heard a tiny voice behind me saying, “Papa!” I turned around just in time to see a flying grin hurtling towards me. Marie-Claude had seen me at the bottom of the stairwell and decided she would have a bit of fun and jump rather than walk down. There was no doubt in her mind that I would catch her!

In front of the rectory, there was a statue of Mary Immaculate. Marie-Claude and I would often pass in front of this statue on our strolls around the property. On one of those strolls, MC had picked a bouquet of wildflowers that she intended to bring to Diane. We had just passed in front of Mary when she suddenly let go of my hand, turned around towards Our Lady, lifted up the bouquet with both hands and offered it to her. I half expected Mary to come down from the pedestal to take the bouquet. How could she resist!

I have often wished that what I could offer to God looked more like a glorious bouquet of expensive roses but, most often, all I have to offer is a handful of sad looking, bug infested and dying dandelions. What my children have taught me is that it is not the beauty of the things I have to offer that counts the most. God’s love cannot resist and will certainly not “drop” even the poorest of offerings made with a great trust. It is the love and the trust that make the gifts valuable.