I took these photos from my mom's house a few days ago. Next to her house, is a field of the most dazzling flowers. I learned that these flowers are called, goldenrods.
Growing up, there was one phrase that stuck with me...It was a phrase that I heard used at a funeral. It is better to give flowers to someone while they are still alive.
One of our neighbors died about six months ago.. My parents bought her home and I'm renting it.
Some days while I am there, I wonder what her life was like.
I wonder if she was lonely. I try to gather facts about her life by the things that she left behind.
she left behind curtains with sunflowers. She loved sunflowers. The stovetop has sunflower stove top covers. She loved her front porch. There was a lot of evidence that she had spent a lot of time there.
I regret never walking to her home and introducing myself. I never met her, but I sense that she was lonely. Maybe it was because she lived alone.
Her bright red clock on the wall tells me that perhaps she was a passionate woman.
Truthfully, I have no idea what her life was like, but sometimes I try to piece things together.
But, truth be known, I wish I had gathered up a handful of flowers, mustered up the courage to walk the whole 100 yards into her yard and say, "MY name is Rachelle. I'm your neighbor." I regret not doing that and taking the time to love on a lady that probably could have used some company.
God says to love our neighbors.. Mother Teresa posed the question that many of us would probably be ashamed to answer, "Do you even know your neighbors?"
I regret not walking to her house and giving her flowers.
But, If there is any one good thing about regret...It's that we learn from it..
Or hopefully, we learn from it..
There is another neighbor to the north of me that I don't know. Perhaps I will go say hello ..instead of wondering what their life was like when they are gone..
Maybe, I will bring some flowers.
|I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck. ~Emma Goldman|
|For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away:|
|His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh. -Song of Solomon|
|I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers. ~Claude Monet|
|Let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair... ~Susan Polis Shutz|
|The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever. -Isaiah|
|Add captionBut the rich, in that he is made low: because as the flower of the grass he shall pass away.|
|“One person's weed is another person's wildflower.” |
― Susan Withing Albert
“A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in--what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Miserables