One of the earliest signs of spring at our place is the daffodil blooms.
This year, our first daffodil (not the precocious one that bloomed in January) bloomed on February 7.
It wasn't long before the yard many more of the cheerful yellow blooms. They are always very pretty, brightening what is otherwise often a dull and dreary month.
On Saturday, I had to make a quick run to town for a few things. When I approached our driveway coming home, a white truck had pulled up, blocking me from turning in. I stopped in the road with my turn signal blinking, figuring he'd catch on that I was turning in. He did, but pulled his truck up onto the grass.
Now that's one thing that RAF really hates is for people to drive over his grass. I supposed the people in the truck were going across the road to visit our neighbors, so I thought, "I'll just ask him to move his truck."
So I pulled in the driveway, got out and walked toward the truck. The man was getting out, and I said something like, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't park on our grass."
What happened next made my pitiful brain short circuit I guess.
The man said, "We are just going to pick some flowers," as he helped a very little girl out of the truck.
I just looked at him.
I don't remember what I said next, probably something like, "What???" or "You were going to pick our flowers???" (Like I said, my brain short-circuited.)
I think at that point the man realized that he might have messed up. He said, "I didn't think anybody lived here."
Where my brain had short-circuited before, now my head exploded. How could anyone think no one lived here? The yard was mowed, there was a nice mailbox, the driveway was obviously well used, there was a rocking chair on the front porch...I think my reaction was to feel insulted by him saying that.
I looked at him, kind of threw my hands up in the air toward the daffodils by the mailbox (meaning, Ok, help yourself), walked back to the car and drove off. As I was walking back to the car, I heard him say again, "I didn't think anybody lived here."
I guess they got back in the truck and left. I really don't know because I didn't look back.
The more I thought about it, the more upset I got. Not upset at the man and the little girl, but upset with myself. The more I thought about it, the more ashamed I was for the way I acted, and my mind starting going over and over and over how I should have handled the whole situation differently.
What would it have hurt to let the little girl (she was a very little girl) pick a flower? Even a tiny fist full of flowers? Even every last flower in the yard? Didn't Jesus say something about suffer not the little children to come unto him? Wouldn't it have been nice to share some of the yellow cheer with that little girl?
And the more I thought about it the more wretched I felt. I often pray for God to show me what to do, and to open my heart to listen when he shows me. Well, he gave me an opportunity to be kind...and I blew it.
I've fretted over it ever since then, wishing I could just get a do-over and tell the little girl, "Those right there are the biggest, prettiest ones. Be sure to pick the stem long enough so you can put them in a glass of water."
But most of the time, we don't get a do-over. My hateful reaction will be what the man and the little girl remember me for. Yes, he probably should have asked permission instead of just going into a stranger's yard and picking their flowers. But his actions don't excuse or justify mine.
And while the daffodils are still bright and cheerful, their cheer kind of rings hollow for me right now - I just feel very sad when I look out the window at them.
They remind me that I failed. I was given a chance to be kind, and I failed.