You Don't Send Me Flowers

Okay so...I've never been a girl who needed grand romantic gestures or expensive gifts to keep me happy. Thoughtfulness does rate high on my appreciation list however, so I do enjoy thoughtful, considerate, kind and surprise gestures. But, one of the things that I've always had this little thing for...and this may seem silly...is someone sending me flowers at my job. I don't know why...maybe I saw it in a movie once or read it in a book, but I've always wanted to get a call from the front desk saying that I had a package and then to my surprise, it turns out to be flowers! I've talked about it enough over the years that my best friend took pity on me and sent me tulips one year...lol. Well, fast forward to the present...on Monday I was sitting at my desk, maybe working, when my coworker calls to tell me I have a package. I'm thinking...I wasn't expecting anything, but maybe someone sent me updated plans for one of my projects or something. I walk to the front to see what it is (looking right past a beautiful bouquet of red roses in a vase sitting on the counter). "So, where's my package," I ask her. She laughs. "Right there on the counter...it's the roses!" Confused much more than I should be, "Huh? Those are for me??" She laughed again, "Now, if you don't want them...I'll take them off your hands!" Finally I get the picture, pick up the roses and head back to my desk. Considering it wasn't a holiday or my birthday nor do I have a boyfriend nor am I really even dating anyone at this time, I hadn't a clue who might have sent them. I finally read the card when I get back to my desk. The card reads something like...Just wanted you to know I thought about you today. A perfect little card for the perfect roses for the perfect office delivery. And on a normal ol' Monday morning. How perfect! Well...almost. While I greatly appreciated the flowers and loved the gesture, the man who sent them is not someone I'm interested in. A very nice guy with pretty clear intentions, yet for me, there's no reciprocity of pursuit. So, as the roses sat on the ledge in front of the window in my cubie, I immediately begin to think about the implications of these pretty flowers. What did he want? Had we not just previously discussed just being friends? Would there be more to come? Would he go overboard with gifts? So on and so forth. I eventually got back to work, occassionally staring at the beauty of the flowers and smiling. When I left work, I left the flowers on the window sill to greet me in the morning. On my way home I was telling my sister about the bouquet delivery and how I was wondering what it implied and what I might need to be concerned about. I went on to talk about I was talked about someone sending me flowers at work, yet when I got them, I was trying to ask a million questions. Then I wondered aloud if this was some kind of sign from God that this man really was the one for me or something....despite the fact that I haven't a single tinge of anything for him. I know...crazy, right? So finally my sis mercifully stops my paranoid rant. She pointed out that although I've always talked about getting flowers at work, the actual occurrence of it did not mean that God was sending down some declaration of my soul mate. Rather, it was simply the kind, thoughtful, surprising gesture that I'd wanted. The sender of the flowers wasn't so much the important thing in this case. It was the beauty of the flowers as they sat in my window sill and the joy that I got upon realizing that someone had sent ME flowers of their own free desire. How very true. I began to appreciate the flowers in a much simpler way...unclouded by nonsense questions and concerns regarding the in depth meaning of each petal. After all, they were just roses. Just pretty red roses. For me. When I went to work the next morning, the petals had begun to open up and I pulled opened the shades to expose them to the full sunlight. Absolutely beautiful. I sat down, opened up my email and giggled...someone sent me flowers!

Release Me

Okay so...I went to church last night for Wednesday night service. The speaker's general topic was forgiveness. He spoke dynamically about the power of forgiveness. He dealt extensively with the importance of understanding that forgiveness typically does more for the forgiver than for the one which is being forgiven. When we choose not to forgive, but instead carry around grudges, anger, hate and the like, that burden exists with us. It is a weight that we continue to carry whether the other person or persons involved care or think anything about it. And I thought to myself...how true! When I think of those that I believe have wronged or hurt me in some way, I tend to become irritable or angry or sad all over again. That is my weight. My burden. Not theirs. That is taking up space in my heart that could be otherwise occupied by something better and greater. The British/English equivalent of forgive/forgiveness is release. Release the pain. Release the anger. Release the hurt. Release the resentment. And eventually, release the burden. The concept makes perfect sense to me. Now, I just have to figure out how to do it. Can I give that which was not asked? If those who have wronged me have never apologized and asked me to forgive them, can I truly do so? Presumably, the answer is yes. If it were not, that would mean that everyone we come in contact with would have the master controls over our lives and hearts. I can't be turning 50 and still talking about how some girl spread rumors about me when I was 15 and never apologized! Forgiveness is really independent of he or she who is to be forgiven. The power of forgiveness rests in the hands of he or she who does the act of forgiving. There is no need for confession or confirmation or approval on anyone else's part. We could wait and waste a lifetime on hoping someone else will recognize and own up to the fact that they have done us wrong. But, clearly, a lifetime is far too long to be "unreleased." To release is to let go. To release is to free. To release is to find ease. To release is find peace. So, to the little hardened corners of hurt, anger and resentment I own, I say simply, RELEASE ME.

(Sounds good, huh? This puts me on what I'm sure is like a 100 step plan to forgiveness...lol. I would look for a forgiveness class to take somewhere...but, I already have one...church...)

Don't Forget Your Coat

Okay so...I'm on my way to work yesterday morning, leaving on time for once. It's a little cold and windy in the AM, but the day promises to warm up a little later on. The kids are wrapped up and walking to school...at least most of them. There are little ones in coats, a few with hats and gloves. Some are visibly a little chilly and I wonder who sent them out without a warmer coat this morning. But, the warmer coat quickly became a passing thought as a passed one little miss who was clad in a jean mini, fitted sweater and short boots. Not only did my internal question become, where's your coat, but...where are the rest of your clothes?? Followed by the question of who let her out the house in that? I mean, I'm all for letting your kids express themselves and choose their style and all that, but this was just too much. I'm guessing, at most, she had to be maybe 11 or 12. And I'm envisioning the mama, okay maybe MY mama, at the door as she walks out saying, ummm...where do you think you're going in THAT? I understand that all parents aren't home when their kids leave for school to double check the outfits. But even still, why would those pieces of clothing even exist in a 12 year old's closet??? The kids are wearing too tight clothes, scandalous t-shirts, and many other things that likely have passed right under the nose of a parent or guardian. I don't have kids, so maybe I'm not allowed to speak on it. But, I'm saying...if they're dressing like this at this age...should we expect thongs and stillettos to be the accepted attire in a few years?

Speechless

Okay so...now that I have someplace to write, I have nothing to say. Had plenty on my mind a few hours ago but topics seem to escape me as I sit in front of a blank page. Isn't that always the way? Can't wait for lunch and then you're not hungry anymore. Can't wait to get in the bed and then you can't go to sleep. It's the ol' hurry up and wait. I guess since patience is a virtue that I'm working to make a little less elusive, I won't rush it...