Crowns of Daisies

It was late spring, after the rains had brought a colorful carpet of flowers to the countryside, when the days seem to linger with a hazy lens effect on time. I was four years old and it was 1972. A soft, gray kitten was my new best friend, butterflies were mystical creatures that played with imaginary fairies, and I lived with my family on the side of a mountain, just below my grandma Nonnie’s house in the Missouri Ozarks.

Nonnie had taught hairdressing school for years, but the loss of her husband and oldest son demanded that she stay near the farm, so she set up shop on the first floor of her home. Her clientele consisted of a never-ending parade of other grandmas from around the area. I knew they were grandmas because they were always telling me I reminded them of their grandchildren—which I thought was strange, because I knew I was special and not like anyone else in the whole wide world. I just assumed they did not know how very special I was, so I just smiled like I had been taught and said, “Thank you very much.”

My Grandma’s shop was located on the southeast corner of her home, overlooking the valley, forest and hills that were in a constant state of change. The trees were a kaleidoscope of yellows, reds, oranges, browns and greens, always mixing and meshing with the seasons. In spring, the shades of green around the farm abounded and were more varied than the selection I had from the big box of crayons that I had gotten for Christmas the year before. My mom was expecting another baby and so I got to visit Nonnie during the day, if I stayed out of trouble.

When you are four years old, life is exciting in a way that will never be again. The closest I can come to recapturing that thrilling feeling of discovery is when I travel to places to which I have never been. I would follow deer tracks to see where they led, I would lie on my back for hours watching cloud characters play in the sky, and I would make gifts for everyone—that was my first special gift. I have been a giver as long as I can remember and, I truly believe, this is a gift from God. At four, I gave of my time and imagination, creating crowns of daises for my Grandma’s customers. The ladies might arrive “just grandmas,” but they left “queens” with real crowns—given to them by a special princess…me.

When the time of the daisies ended, I made clover jewelry, bouquets of dandelions, honeysuckle, and anything else that had petals wound up as priceless presents for the grandmas. I toiled hard during those spring and summer months, but I also discovered how unique a fuzzy caterpillar felt when it crawled on my leg and I spent many humorous moments laughing at inch worms crawling up my arm. It was many years later that Nonnie told me how her customers would squeal and cringe as they observed me playing outside the shop windows. Oblivious to their disapproving eyes, I continued to do the fascinating things that all four-year-olds do and managed to have something special for all those ladies who came to call at my Grandma’s shop.

As the summers began to run together, I found new ways of giving to others: a word of thanks for every meal that was prepared for me; showing appreciation for a job done right, the first time; and offering a helping hand to family, friends and even strangers whenever I thought they could use one. As a giver, I have observed many who were not blessed as I was and my sorrow, even at the tender age of four, was great for those who did not think of others first. To see a heartbroken widow’s face begin to crease into a smile that had long since faded over time made any sacrifice or effort more than worth it to me. To hear the words of praise from my family—words that I was never meant to hear--as they told others of my gift assured me that my lone cause was worthy. To feel the thanks from my father as he toiled in the sun when I brought him a cold drink—these things meant more than money 38 years ago and they mean even more to me today.

As a teenager, my friends would tell me to out with boys just “for a movie and dinner” and I would say, “But I know that I don’t like them, isn’t that wrong to use someone like that?” It was, but I still did it from time-to-time and felt terrible the entire evening. As an employee, peers would ask me why I gave “110 % every day” and my response was, “Why don’t you?” but they rarely ever did. As a single parent, others would say, “Why don’t you take welfare instead of working” and I would say, “Because I can work and give my son a good example for when he has to provide for his family.”

Giving is not about gifts, it is about living a life that others can take from and be better because of it. Giving is not about material things; it is about a heart that values people over property. Giving is a test of faith in God that says you know you will be provided for and taken care of by a loving Father who owns the cattle on a thousand hills. Giving is a gift to yourself, as you will learn more when you give than you ever do when you take and those warm memories, feelings and relationships will follow you to your grave…and beyond.

Look around, are there those people in your life who continually give to others? Are you one of those individuals? If you are not, then you should be. Giving comes in many forms and God wants to bless more of His children with this special gift. Listen for that quiet voice that says, “Tell that lady she looks nice today.” This simple command has been given to me so many times that I have lost count, but it has also opened up a window of blessing that continue to pour into my life each new day. I have been told by many “nice-looking strangers” that they were down so low and that what I said had brightened their day and gave them hope, especially when I share that it was God’s whisper that told me what to say. They did not look “down” on me, but God knew what was on the inside of these other people and He needed a giver just to give, not ask questions like, “What if she thinks I’m weird?” or the usual excuse, “But, I don’t know that person, Lord!” God just asks that we be willing, He makes us able. I have never been asked to give more than I have and the blessings that I have received in return have always been greatly tipped in my favor.

Giving is a way of life. I have taken my son on “secret service trips” where we will go and do something anonymously like mow someone’s lawn right before they return from vacation. He has accompanied me when I gave blood and plasma, always seeing me look for opportunities to give to others. We have opened our home to those in need, always given good clothes away instead of selling them at a garage sale, and even hidden money in couch cushions for those who are not able to take easily. I am constantly amazed at how many times I have been blessed just when I needed it. There have been times, many times, when I did not have five dollars to my name and I would find money on the street, receive an anonymous envelope with twenty dollars in it, and even receive a rebate check I was not expecting. I have never had much, but I have always had enough--enough to enjoy and enough to share.

Any time I feel down, lonely, hurt, forgotten, rejected, lost or unloved in any way, I make myself give something to someone and I always feel much better because of it. Your gift may only be a smile, but think of how good it feels when a stranger smiles at you in a crowd. It may only be a night of taking care of a baby, so a mother can take a long bath and read a book without interruption, but think of how welcome that might be to an exhausted young girl with no family around to help out. It may only be an open heart and wide shoulders, but think of how wonderful it is when you can help someone else exhale their heartache with the help of a true friend. Giving is not about a gift, it is the gift. What do you give to others?
 

I am the second "princess" from the right!