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Print Love Under Construction
by Linda CarlyleIt was almost time to leave for lunch with my friend Louretha. I looked out the window. The soft spring rain still drizzled down. I'd definitely get damp cutting the roses. "Wait inside a minute, Abby," I said. "I'm going out to get a little bouquet to take with us."
"I want to go with you! I want to go with you!" Abby wailed.
So I bundled her into her sweatshirt and pulled the hood up over her head. We went outdoors together, Abby and I.
The yellow roses beside my driveway practically glowed. They could have posed for a magazine cover, their soft, perfect petals glistening with raindrops. I quickly cut six blooms and then added another small, barely-opened bud.
I settled in the car, shut the door, and took inventory. Abby, safely buckled into her car seat beside me. Purse. Diaper bag. Bouquet, in hand. I had everything. I started the engine.
As soon as I turned from the highway onto Arnold Lane, I remembered. Road construction began here last week. Maybe I should turn around and take a different route, I thought. Ah, well, we had a few extra minutes to spare. If we were stopped, I determined I'd relax and appreciate the through-the-windshield impressionistic qualities of the landscape. And Abby always enjoys watching heavy equipment at work.
Sure enough. The woman directing traffic held up her stop sign at our approach. "Hi!" she said as I rolled down my window. "It won't be a very long delay."
"That's OK," I replied. "I'm not in much of a hurry. How are you?" I added.
The woman brushed a strand of long, frizzy, blond hair out of her eyes and gazed off into the distance. "I'm having a bad day," she answered.
"I'm sorry," I said, taken slightly aback. Then, hoping she wouldn't think I was just being nosy, I asked, "What's the matter?"
She looked at me. "It's my husband." She paused. "And it's been raining on me all morning. And the wind is beginning to blow."
Unnoticed, Abby had been paying close attention to this conversation. "I had a bad day, too," she put in. "I had a bad day last morning."
The woman bent down to see Abby through the open window. "You had a bad day, too?" she asked.
"Yes!" Abby answered, nodding vigorously. "Yes, I had a bad day, too. Last morning."
"She surely did," I agreed. "Yesterday we went for a walk, and Abby fell down on the road while she was trying to catch the wind. And when we went out to feed the rabbits, the dog knocked her off her step-stool, and she landed flat on her back in the rabbit poo under the cages. And then when she was swinging, she fell out of the swing. She had a very bad day, indeed!"
The woman smiled. "I'm sorry you had so much trouble, honey," she said. She straightened up. "It looks like you can go," she told me. "They'll let you through now."
"Here," I said, pulling the dainty, smallest rosebud from the bouquet and holding it out the window. "I hope your day gets better!"
The woman reached out her hand, protected by a heavy, worn, leather work glove. "Thank you!" she whispered.
I started the car and turned on the windshield wipers. The rain was beginning again. I should have told her I would pray for her, I thought as I drove away.
"Heavy equipment! Heavy equipment!" Abby shrieked and pointed.
"I see it, Abby. I see it," I said. But my thoughts still lingered on the woman holding the stop sign in the rain.
Suddenly I smiled. I remembered that in Victorian times, flowers held special meanings. A whole message could be communicated via a simple bouquet, depending upon the kinds of flowers sent. If I remembered correctly, roses always conveyed the sender's love. Perhaps the woman with the stop sign (What is it that those particular construction workers are called in our politically correct world? Oh, yes, "flaggers"...), perhaps the flagger would somehow realize that the little yellow rose was not from me, but from her Father. Perhaps she would understand that He was sending her His love.
~ Linda Carlyle is an Oregon-based writer. This article originally appeared in the magazine, Signs of the Times.
