In my tween years I thought of daisies as "he loves me nots" showing both my pessimist view and what I thought was the most accurate way to know if I was loved (in the kind of puppy dog crushes "love" only tweens have). Sometimes I forced the love, counting backwards before I started plucking the petals to predetermine my fate.
In my yard and most of the neighborhood all of the daisies are spent, dried petals and drooping heads alerting us that fall is just around the corner. As I was walking the other day this peeked at me from behind a light pole. The day was gloomy outside but this matched my peaceful soul. As I stopped to admire the beauty I almost picked it to play he loves me, he loves me.
I left it, hoping it would brighten someone's day and realizing that I don't need a daisy to determine if I'm loved. I know it because I feel it and I see it every day in small and large acts of kind service. I hear it often and know from the smile on my face when I hear his special text tone.
Just like this daisy, love isn't perfect. There are petals with small bite marks from a grasshoppers lunch and some that never fully uncurled but this little daisy brightened the street and put a smile on my face making my day better simply for being there.
It's being there that I've wanted for so long. Not the big exciting dates (okay, those are fun too), constant barrage of flowers (I'm an occasionally fan of flowers -- not so much frequently) or other outward shows of affection but the evening walks, showing up at my house during lunch break or waiting for me after a long days work. Simply being there and being present in my life makes bad moments good and good things better.
~H
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