A Single Daffodil

Every day, moments, piling one upon another, fade away like footprints in the sand. Then all of a sudden, one moment jumps to the forefront of your mind and you realize its significance, though it was many years ago.

When I was a student at UC Berkeley (oh so long ago), I would buy a bunch of daffodils, ten for a dollar, from the local florist at the time when daffodils were most abundant. The yellow cheeriness of daffodils always made me smile (to this day they are my favorite flower) and I wanted to share their cheeriness with others. With my ten daffodils in hand, I went about my day, on the look-out for friends and classmates who would benefit from a bit of floral sunshine.

On such a day, I had finished my classes with a daffodil still in hand. As I rode the bus to the BART station, I thought about giving the daffodil maybe to the bus driver or the BART train driver. I saw that my stop was approaching; I had to decide. Then I saw, sitting near the front door of the train, a grandmother and her granddaughter. They looked content and well-dressed; there was nothing about them that cried out for pity or mercy. But I knew that they were the ones to receive my final daffodil.

My heart was beating so quickly. I had no idea what the woman would say, maybe she would think I was a crazy college student and reject my gift. I had only a split second to decide what to do. The bus stopped at the BART station, and the doors opened. I hurried towards the front door, stopping long enough only to say to the woman, "This flower is for you." Then I rushed out.

When my heart had settled back to its regular rhythm, I didn't think any more of the incident. I went on with my day, my week, and my life. Then recently, more than ten years later, I remembered the bus ride, the woman and her granddaughter, the flower in my hand. What stands out to me now was the woman's response. She had grabbed my hand, had looked straight into my eyes (and the joy in her eyes was indescribable), and had said, "Thank you." But it wasn't a 'thank you' for the flower, or even for my thoughtfulness. It was a 'thank you' for being an answer to prayer. I'm certain that she had prayed for a sign, and the sign was me and my daffodil.

Remember, even the most insignificant moments are full of meaning when you listen for God's voice. I pray you have a beautiful, joyful day!