by April | Nov 9, 2010 | Short Stories
As the owner of a floral shop, Hua knew that people gave flowers for every occasion: marriage, birth, celebrations and loss. Today, as she walked around straightening the displays and dusting the vases, everything in the shop reminded her of loss. Especially the roses.
Hua wiped a tear escaping from the corner of her eye and faced the door as a customer entered her small shop. She forced a smile when she saw Mrs. Lee. The sweet old woman came in every Tuesday to buy the same small bunch of flowers for her husband’s grave. Hua already had it prepared, but out of respect for Mrs. Lee, she waited until she asked for it.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. What can I do for you today?”
“Ah, Hua, I’ve come for an arrangement for my husband’s grave.”
Hua listened to Mrs. Lee’s selection of flowers, then went to the back of the shop and puttered around for a few minutes before opening the floral case and taking out the prearranged bunch.
“I hope this will be good enough.” She offered the grouping of narcissus, white daisy and baby’s breath to Mrs. Lee with a slight bow and smile.
“Perfect. As always.” Mrs. Lee bent her arthritic fingers with painstaking care and extracted a ten-dollar bill from her wallet. But, instead of leaving, as she usually did with a wave, she stood there.
“Was there something else I could help you with?”
“How are you?”
Taken aback, she said, “I’m well.”
Mrs. Lee looked at her with skeptical eyes. “And your husband?”
Hua didn’t know how to answer that. She wasn’t accustomed to lying. “He is well.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Lee tottered past the ferns and other live plants to the small café table in the waiting area and motioned for Hua to follow. “Come and sit.”
“I don’t have a lot of time right now, Mrs. Lee. I just got several new shipments in, and they need to be refrigerated.”
“Give a few minutes to an old woman, will you? Do you have any tea?”
After bringing a pot of jasmine tea and two small cups out to the table, she sat down across from Mrs. Lee.
Mrs. Lee poured the tea into the cups and watched the steam rise. “I have not seen your husband in the shop for some time.”
Neither have I. “He’s often gone. Business is good for him.”
“I thought you owned the shop together.”
“We do, but he was offered a job two years ago in the sales department of one of our suppliers.” It was supposed to secure their future. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back.
“He’s a hard worker.”
Hua just nodded, afraid of what she might say if she spoke.
“And how long have you been married?”
“Twenty-five years.” Today. Not that he’d bothered to call her. She wasn’t even sure which town he was in.
“Ahh. You are just beginning.” Mrs. Lee’s eyes grew wispy. “I was married to Mr. Lee for sixty-five years. We met at the immigration office. Then, in citizen class, he would come and sit by me. I didn’t want him to, so I would always move to the most uncomfortable section with the worst view of the teacher, hoping he would not follow, but he didn’t stop. Once I actually saw him give money to another person so that they would move and he could have their seat near me.” She clucked her tongue. “Even though he was very handsome, it wasn’t proper to encourage such actions.
“Finally, on the day we were granted citizenship, he asked me to lunch. As soon as I heard his voice, the gentle tone, I knew I would say yes.” Mrs. Lee let a happy sigh escape. “We were married just two weeks later.” She extracted a crumpled tissue from the sleeve of her coat and dabbed at her eyes. “And how did you and your husband meet?”
Hua stiffened in her chair. “I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you have many things to do today.” She began to rise, but Mrs. Lee stilled her with a wrinkled, gentle hand on her arm.
“Please, honor an old woman with a quick story.” She smiled encouragingly at Hua.
Hua relented. “On the subway. I was working in this same shop, but back then I had to travel across town to get here. One time I looked up and saw Joseph sitting in the seat across from me. He was very tall.” She remembered feeling small and alone on the train—his size seemed to amplify her feelings. “The next day, there he was again. Later that week, I looked out of the window of the shop and saw him walking up the street. The day after that he was at the newsstand on the corner. The following day he was getting coffee from a vender, then sitting in the restaurant next-door.
“He started to come into the shop, every day, to buy just one flower. As soon as he’d see me working in the back, he’d leave. This went on for three weeks.”
“He was following you? I would have been afraid.” Mrs. Lee made a tisk sound with her tongue.
“I was. My boss didn’t take it seriously, and he chalked it up to cultural differences—but I didn’t think anyone from any culture would like to be stalked. One morning I took a later train, hoping to avoid him, but when I got off, there he was. As soon as he saw me, he turned away and bought a newspaper, hiding his face behind an article. My fear turned to anger and I confronted him.”
Hua remembered the shocked look on Joseph’s face.
“Just what do you think you are doing?”
“I’m sorry. I just…” Joseph stopped, his face flushed pink with embarrassment.
Her hand balled into a fist and she shook it at him. “You leave me alone. Quit following me.”
She caught herself smiling at the image in her mind, her tiny Asian form threatening his six-foot frame.
“I wasn’t. I mean, I was, but,” he paused, hands up as if she held a gun to his chest.
“If you continue, I’ll call the police.” Hua began walking away, but he ran ahead, blocking her path.
“Please. I’m sorry. Let me explain.” He held out a bunch of flowers, dried to perfection, arranged so that the colors blended yellow, gold, red, pink and white, one into the next. They were all roses, perfectly preserved. The aroma was sweet, but it was the adoring look in his eyes that took her breath away.
“I’ve been trying to get the courage to talk to you, but I didn’t know how.”
“So instead you follow me?”
“I work down the street. I started to see you every day on the subway and then I saw where you worked.” His eyes searched her face. “I didn’t know how to approach you, or if you even spoke English.”
She kept her eyes narrowed at him.
“I brought these hoping to catch you.” He held up the flowers again, but she didn’t reach for them. “Will you tell me your name?”
“Hua.”
“Hua?”
“It means flower.”
A pleased smile grew across his face. “Flower.”
She felt her cheeks go warm under his gaze and decided to change the subject.
“You did this?” She motioned to the bouquet.
“I made them for you.”
Hua let the memory of it work through her. She could see his boyish face, so handsome and fair; his green eyes reflecting worry and hope as she’d finally accepted his flowers.
She finished the tale to Mrs. Lee. “And five months later we were married. Three years after that, we pulled together our life savings and got a loan to buy this shop.” She shrugged and smiled in spite of herself.
“A lovely story. Thank you.” Mrs. Lee finished her tea and stood to leave. “May God bless your marriage.” She took her flowers and left the shop.
As Hua cleared the table, she looked out the window, and saw Mrs. Lee stop by a man on the corner. He leaned down, bowing to her and she walked past. The man strode up the street towards the shop, his coat collar up against the cold, but she couldn’t see who he was. She put the tea things away and looked up over the doorway. The sign Joseph painted for her hung there. It read, “A flower fades, but true love remains.” She shook her head, wondering how she could have ever believed that.
Just then, the door opened, jingling the bell above it, and in walked the man she’d seen. As he turned down his coat collar, revealing his face, she froze. Joseph. Once again, he stood before her with worry and hope in his eyes. His face was more lined than it used to be, his hair sprinkled with gray at the temples. Yet he still took her breath away.
“Hua, my flower.”
Joseph hadn’t called her that for some time. In fact, she hadn’t seen him in weeks, or heard from him in days. Every call grew more distant, every conversation more strained. All they’d dreamed and worked for was fading away.
“What are you doing here?” She hadn’t meant to sound so accusing, but her anger had gotten the best of her.
“These are for you.” He held out a bouquet of dried roses, twice as large as the one he’d given her all those years ago. “One flower for every year.”
Taking the bouquet, she recognized some of the flowers that had been grown in their private garden. Some of the plants weren’t there anymore. “You must have been collecting these for a long time.”
“Not everyone gets to be married for twenty-five years.”
“What did you say to Mrs. Lee?” She could see the surprise in his eyes. His face fell, like a little boy who’d just been caught breaking the neighbor’s window with a baseball.
“I asked if she would come in today and remind you of how we met.”
“Why?”
“I quit my job.”
Shock and relief rushed through Hua, but did she dare hope?
“I know we decided I should take that job so we’d have a solid retirement, so that in the future our days would be secure.” He took a few steps closer. “But I realized as I put this bouquet together, that soon I would be financially secure, but I’d also be alone.”
He put his hand under her chin, tipping it up to look into her eyes. “I would rather work hard every day by your side, than retire early and have no one to share it with.”
She felt the tears in her eyes spill out, washing away her anger as he brushed them away with his fingers.
“Did the Tuesday shipment come in?” He used a business-like tone, but she could see joy in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Let’s get it unpacked.”
She nodded and started toward the back of the shop. Instead, he blocked her path and pulled her into his arms, his eyes locked on the sign over the door. A flower fades, but true love lasts forever.
She followed his gaze. “Mrs. Lee says we are just beginning.”
“I hope she’s right.” He kissed the top of her head. “Happy anniversary,” he whispered.
Copyright by April McGowan 2010
by April | Oct 24, 2010 | Short Stories, Writing
Liz straightened the napkins around her place setting for the fourth time, aligning and realigning the silverware, whispering a mantra to herself. “It’s just for dinner and then I can go home to my family. It’s just dinner.” She tucked the fork down, pulled the spoon up and slipped the package snugly under the edge of her plate. A new group of people entered the restaurant, but there was no sign of Sherri.
A glance at her watch told her Sherri was twenty minutes late. All that rushing to get here for nothing. She shouldn’t have agreed to meet her in the first place. She had finally cast Sherri out of her life three years ago, shaking her friendship off like dust from her sandals. The moment had been the most freeing and refreshing she could remember. It was like the spring breeze blowing in over the ocean on the first warm day at the coast, sweet and salty, cold but not bitter. She wasn’t sure where she ever got the courage to do it, but she hadn’t regretted it once.
The waiter interrupted her thoughts. “More water?” His calm demeanor didn’t match the irritation in his eyes.
She shifted in her chair, guilt building around her for tying up a table during the dinner rush.
“Yes, thank you.”
“And more breadsticks for madam?”
Liz locked her eyes on the empty breadstick glass, not recollecting eating the last one.
“That’d be nice. You know, I’m sure my friend will be here soon.”
“Of course.” He turned his back on her and went to another table, his tone now friendly and light as he filled their wine glasses and offered them coffee and desert.
He probably thought she was one of those people who ate the free bread and left without buying a meal.
There were a hundred reasons she shouldn’t be here waiting for Sherri, but when she’d invited her for dinner, she’d caved and said yes. Liz could never stand up to her. Well, except that last time when she cut off communication. Sherri, apparently having not noticed Liz wiping her hands of their friendship, insisted on this meeting, and was now probably standing her up and making her look the fool once again.
Liz reached up and tucked a straying clump of black unruly hair behind her ear, and fiddled with her earring back, twisting and twisting. Panic set in—was her earring right side up, or upside down? Flustered, she extracted her spoon and covertly looked at her cockeyed reflection. She was upside down, so was left still left, or was it right? Before she could wrap her brain around that confounding bit of physics, she heard voices near the entry of the small restaurant.
Loud, cheery talk drew everyone’s eyes towards the seating host, and the lovely woman who engaged him. Liz noted the cut of her maroon dress, high up the leg, low in the back, and her perfectly styled hair before she realized she was admiring Sherri. The bite of breadstick she had nibbled two seconds prior solidified in her throat and she grappled with her glass of water, gulping it down, in attempts to push it along. She swallowed hard, realizing too late that she had taken in too much. A resounding ache filled her throat and chest as it dislodged the plug, and her eyes teared in sympathy.
Sherri flipped her auburn hair, laughed at something the host said, and touched him on the arm before leaning in to whisper something conspiratorially. Liz tensed as she remembered Sherri giving her orders as if on some kind of training mission, “If you want someone to like you, to do things for you, get them on your side. Empathy and touch do nicely.”
She had always felt Sherri had been quoting from some early Fifties self-help manual, but it appeared the advice still worked. She was never one to reuse an unsuccessful technique. The host personally walked her over to Liz’s table and pulled out Sherri’s chair for her. He offered her a complimentary bottle of their house wine.
“Aren’t you kind?” Her voice overflowed with silky warmth.
Liz’s stomach clenched into a tight knot. He hadn’t pulled out her chair, he had only pointed to the corner and said, “how about there?” He hadn’t offered her wine. On the contrary, the only thing he’d given her was accusing looks.
After tucking Sherri into the table, as if into bed, he handed her a menu with a flourish and a wink before leaving them alone.
Sherri’s rapt attention swung away from the host and settled gently on Liz, like a dove lighting on a newly budding tree.
“Liz, darling.” She reached her perfectly manicured hand across the table and squeezed Liz’s arm. “You look wonderful.”
Liz heard the forced compliment, felt the touch, saw Sherri lean as the empathetic shift of her attention enveloped her.
She knew very well how she looked: tired, haggard and frazzled. Jason had misplaced the iron, so the black blouse she wore was wrinkled; there was a run in the toe of her stalking, creating a large hole encircling her middle toe and cutting off the circulation—it was most unfortunate that she’d worn open toed shoes. In the end, she had barely made it out of the house without food on her slacks when the twins rushed her, their hands encrusted with peanut butter and crackers, to hug her goodbye.
Despite the truth, she sat up a little taller, and felt a surge of pride at being honored by Sherri’s attention. Within seconds, the fallacy of those feelings was realized and replaced by a familiar tickle of tension. Duped again.
The waiter returned with house salads. “May I recommend the scampi?”
“Sounds lovely. What about you?” She pointed the waiter in Liz’s direction.
“Steak and cheddar potatoes.” She had meant to order the low-calorie vegetable soup, but her brain had locked in on the cheddar potatoes and couldn’t seem to let it go. To cover for her mistake, she tried to make small talk.
“Sherri, you look lovely.” She fought the urge to squeeze Sherri’s arm and lean in. Was her smile forced or natural? Did she sound as convincing as Sherri had? She had only been in Sherri’s presence for one minute and already she had begun to second-guess herself.
“Oh, I’m all right I suppose.” She shrugged. “It’s been ages. I’m so glad you could come. I’m sorry it can’t be for a longer visit—I’ve so much to do while in town.”
Liz nodded in mock understanding. Sherri was an attorney, very busy and dedicated to her clients. But, Liz also knew she wasn’t in the middle of a case. She wasn’t home to do anything but visit with her family. It was her parent’s fortieth wedding anniversary. To some, this would be a large affair, but not in Sherri’s family. Blood was always thicker. No, setting aside a few hours for Liz was all she could manage.
Liz caught her thoughts. She hadn’t wanted this meeting at all, and now she was grousing because Sherri didn’t ask to spend even more time with her. Why do I care?
The waiter returned with their food, placing the dish before Sherri with a flourish, and plopping Liz’s down with a thud. As Liz unfolded her napkin, her silverware ratted against the plate, drawing looks from those nearby their table. Ignoring them, she began cutting her steak into small bite-sized pieces before she realized what she was doing—there were no tiny mouths to save from choking hazards here. She pushed the meat around on her plate, to mask what she’d done. Since Sherri didn’t have children, she probably wouldn’t notice.
“So, tell me,” Sherri began, drawing out the word me, “how have you been?” Her brown eyes blinked slowly and she settled her chin on her hands, giving Liz her complete attention.
“Oh, well, fine.”
“Come on now. How are your twins? The last pictures you emailed me were adorable. They could be models, absolutely.”
Email? Oh blast that fool address book. She must have mistakenly sent Sherri the last set of photos. No wonder she was calling her. Wait, did she just say models?
“Oh, thanks. You know, they’re both so quick to learn. Lila is reading and Lucas is so spatially gifted. He remembers street names and people and places months after we’ve visited. For five, they really are amazing.” Liz could hear herself gushing, but couldn’t seem to stop. “They did the funniest thing the other day,” Liz paused feeling self-conscious all of a sudden.
Her companion smiled and nodded before taking a bite of her salad, breaking eye contact as if she were bored to pieces. Liz grumped. Sherri could always get to her, drawing her out and then shutting her down just as she was beginning to feel comfortable. She felt seasick from riding the wave up and down so rapidly.
It was then she noticed Sherri had quit eating; in fact there was little evidence she had eaten anything at all—except perhaps from the gloss of oil and vinegar residue on her forgotten fork.
Liz peered down at her own mostly empty plate and swallowed the bit of cheddar potato she had been enjoying but which now lay like dust on her tongue.
“Anything the matter?”
“Oh, no—just getting full.” Her lips thinned into a smile and she moved her napkin to the tabletop signaling the waiter to remove her plate.
The food was delicious and Liz hardly ever got to eat out without the kids. It was heavenly not to defend her meal from tiny invaders, to eat in peace—or at least relative peace. And yet, she couldn’t eat another bite. Even now she could feel the waist of her size fourteen slacks digging into the skin of her stomach.
Well, that’s why she’s a size six and you’re a fourteen. She knows when to stop. Six and fourteen? Am I really over twice her size? Does it work that way? No it couldn’t be; our wrists are practically identical.
“Liz?” Sherri’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“What?”
“I asked how your husband was.”
“Oh, he’s fine. Business is good.” Liz kept her guard up. She knew very well that Sherri didn’t like Jason. He was the first decision she had made without asking Sherri’s opinion—permission rather. She changed the subject.
“How’s Henry,” Liz countered.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s fine.”
Liz frowned. “You’re sure?”
“Well, he’s moved on you see, so there’s no way I could really know. I suspect he’s fine.” Sherri sipped her wine.
“Moved on?” Her voice echoed in the cozy restaurant. She lowered it. “Do you mean he’s left you?” Liz was aghast—in part shock that her friend was divorced, and in part out of a strange respect for Henry.
“Yes. His secretary was spending more time with him than I was, so he decided he should just be with her instead. It was much more—convenient.”
“Convenient?” Liz laughed at the idea, then sobered when she saw Sherri wasn’t joking. “You’re serious?”
“He’s into efficiency.” She shrugged as if she had just said he was into football.
Liz imagined Henry letting Sherri go, as if he were firing an employee. She could picture it easily, Henry dry and pragmatic, all angles and ugly, smiling down his nose at Sherri. “It makes more sense, it’s much more convenient.” And then his handing her a severance check and a letter of reference for her years of dedicated service.
“The lousy,” Liz stopped herself before she said how she really felt. Sherri didn’t deserve what he’d done, no one did. Then she heard something she hadn’t heard since they were girls. Sherri laughed—loud and long and real. Liz wasn’t sure if she were having a breakdown or not.
“Sherri?”
“I’m sorry. I was just picturing Henry proposing the arrangement to his secretary.” She cleared her voice, lowering it an octave, “By the way, I’m replacing my wife with you because you’re more efficient,” she paused, “he always was a romantic.” She burst into laughter again, blotting the tears away with her napkin.
“And she said yes!”
“I know, can you believe it? Oh good heavens.” She took a deep breath to stave off another attack of the giggles.
“What settlement did you get?” Liz leaned towards her in anticipation.
“I got the house and his car.” She nodded back.
“And you never liked either!”
“No, they were horrible! I sold them the next day to the first offer I got. I lost thousands.” The laughter had returned, and Liz joined her.
“I bet that killed him.”
Sherri could only nod. Liz watched the glimmer of joy in her eyes fade away.
“I’m sorry.” Liz really was. Sherri was better off without an unfaithful husband—but that didn’t change the facts. The dream of a long, fulfilling marriage had ended in betrayal.
For several seconds Sherri said nothing. “I wanted to call you, you know.”
“You did?”
“But we’d lost contact.” Here her eyes locked on Liz’s. So, Sherri had noticed after all. “I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with. Some people say I’m calculating.”
Liz couldn’t argue with her.
“Henry always said he admired that in me. Considering the source, you can understand why I no longer take that as a compliment.”
All Liz could do was nod.
“When you posted those pictures to me, I guess I took that as an olive branch.” Her voice lifted at the end, as if she’d posed a question.
Liz could hardly admit the email had been accidental. She now wished she’d dealt differently with the situation. “I’m sorry we grew apart and that I wasn’t there for you.”
“You know, I’ve never asked you about your faith.”
“It’s your faith, too. You go to church.”
“I occasionally went to church. You go to worship. There’s a difference.”
“Oh.” Liz had never thought of it that way.
“Anyway, I’m not very good at such things, but I thought you could pray for me. Henry’s leaving was such a surprise—and I really despise those kinds of surprises.”
“Of course.” Not once in her life had she ever heard Sherri say the word pray.
“Good.” She laced her fingers together as if she’d closed a deal. Just then the waiter came by to check on them and showed them the desert menu. Liz was about to tell him no, still feeling the pressure of her pants cutting into her skin, when Sherri grabbed it.
“The brownie sundae with extra fudge, please, and fast.”
Liz’s eyes lit up. “Make that two.”
Copyright by April McGowan 2010
by April | Oct 11, 2010 | Encouragement, Thankfulness
Over the summer my dad and my daughter were canvassing a thrift shop aisle when they happened upon a reading lamp for a sweet deal. It was bright fuchsia, metallic and flashy—just her style. They tested it out, but when we got it home, we noticed that although it turned ON, the touch sensor didn’t turn OFF. So my dad, handyman that he is, went and got a new switch and gutted the touch sensor. The “sweet deal” was a more expensive deal now, but the important thing was that my daughter had this really cool lamp and Grandpa had fixed it special for her.
After we moved it into her room, we discovered she didn’t really need a lamp–she had two in place. Instead, she ended up making a spot for it, because she loved it, but it wasn’t in the best spot. It’s been sitting, mostly unused-but loved-on a small stand. That was, until the other night.
About a week ago, as my daughter was climbing into bed, we heard a loud crash from her room—she’d accidentally knocked her glass lamp off the desk. Now, my girl is passionate about reading before she goes to sleep, so her first thought upon seeing her broken lamp was that she could no longer read in bed. I immediately moved her fuchsia lamp over to her bedside so that she could read—and all was well with the world.
Last night, after I tucked her in and flipped on her fuchsia lamp, I got to thinking about God and how he takes care of us. That’s when I realized that he had provided a replacement lamp for my daughter, a full month before she even needed one. With a contrite heart, I began pondering all the things that God provides for me that I never even notice—because like the lamp, they so often enter our lives in this seamless, subtle way.
Mathew 6: 8b for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.
Mathew 6: 25-33 Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?
And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
by April | Oct 6, 2010 | Encouragement
Some people think of life in similes or metaphors. One I’ve heard many times is that life is like a rollercoaster. I can’t use that one—roller coasters make me tense, nervous and nauseated. Life might not be a roller coaster in my mind, but it is a bit like an amusement park ride. You climb in the seat, buckle up and wait for it to take off (secretly, I’m always hoping that their safety record is good and all the gears are greased). This became even more apparent to me the other day.
“Well, here we go,” I said as I closed my cell phone. My husband had just told me he’d secured a new job. My daughter followed up with, “I knew you’d say that.”
Okay, well I had no idea that I’d say that, so her comment surprised me. From talking it over with her, I hear I respond that way to big events (positive and negative) quite often—or often enough for her to make note of it. (See, they are ALWAYS watching!). I guess I do take each new stage of life, each turn, as a new challenge and a new way to trust God for his provision and care. I look at change with less dread now than I did when I was young, and much more hopeful anticipation.
I think that pleases my Father immensely. I liken it to having received a Christmas gift from a loved one. Do I open it when dread and fear, or am I excited, hoping for what might be? Now you’re thinking, “It depends on who it’s from!”
The more I get to know God as not just the creator way up there, but a my Father in heaven that loves and cares for me, the more I look forward to riding the ride, seeing where He will take me, and what He will do next.
Psalm 139: 1-4 O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.
Mathew 7: 7-11 “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened. “Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!
by April | Oct 4, 2010 | Celiac, Dairy Free, Encouragement, Food Allergies, Gluten
I studied interior design in college. I had to learn very quickly to communicate my ideas visually with the class—and especially to the instructor. We learned to draw in perspective, to use vanishing points to make what was really a one dimensional view look three dimensional. I grew especially good at drawing from the top down (as if you’d taken the roof off the building and looked inside like, like taking the top off a dollhouse). But, that came with a lot of practice and many mistakes.
We recently took our first trip as a family who is limited by food allergies. Two years ago, we were not that family. We spent one year in diagnosis with my son, and we’ve had one year to adapt to a lifestyle that is not friendly to our day to day conveniences of food. Or inconveniences—depends on how you look at it. And that is the point of my post.
We haven’t yet taken on bigger vacations, but we started with a two-day trip to a family member’s house. We made sure that the grocery stores in the area had some of the safe foods we depend upon, and then went shopping to buy everything else we needed. We packed our pans and cutting boards and utensils (we have to be that careful with his diet). I made safe snacks for the ride and had meals prepared so when we stopped we could eat.
Traveling like this does NOT come naturally to me. I grew up stopping at restaurants when we were hungry, along with the rest of the population. We now look at fast food joints like flashy rest stops. We can’t eat there—we just use their…amenities.
I’ve quit minding the wrappers and crumbles left behind from our eating in the car (our safe haven when it’s raining and there are no places to stop. Please, don’t look through the window of my car too carefully!).
I do have to admit, that on the way home, after what was really a lovely trip, I did look ever so longingly at the families heading into those cozy side spots for a nice leisurely meal—especially when it was 8PM and we still had to unpack and THEN cook dinner when we got back.
We are learning to live outside what other folks have to do. But, we are managing and beginning to see things from new angles and make new routines and habits. With practice and prayer, we are seeing advantages like listening to books on CD while we eat lunch in our car, rather than slipping on the greasy floors of a fast food restaurant (but that’s another story). God has a hand at changing our hearts, and instead of looking with dread at these challenges, I am looking at things from a new perspective.
Philippians 4: 4-7,19 Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 19 And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.
As the owner of a floral shop, Hua knew that people gave flowers for every occasion: marriage, birth, celebrations and loss. Today, as she walked around straightening the displays and dusting the vases, everything in the shop reminded her of loss. Especially the roses.
