This week, I've been thinking about the wonder and power of worship. While I was thinking, this story from a few years ago came to mind.
It happened like this:
It wasn't so much the flower that caught my attention, but the look on Bethany's face behind it -- a look of shy adoration and expectation. As she stepped toward me, a dazzling smile swept across her face, revealing two gaps in the front where teeth had been just days before. I looked down into those clear six-year-old eyes and smiled back. With one hand she brushed back the bangs that were almost touching her eyebrows and ran a knuckle over the mudpie smudge that still stained her cheek. And with the other filthy, dirt-smeared hand, she held out a single bedraggled daisy, its white petals drooping over a stem grown limp from the pressure of her small fist.
"For you," she whispered, grinning up at me again and awaiting my response.
Delicately, I took the daisy, held it in my palm, and watched the joy dance as topaz lights through her brown eyes. Then she was gone, back to her own little world of mudpies and swing-sets. In a few moments, the sound of her laugh drifted through the window as I placed the daisy in a glass of water and coaxed it to stand upright.
As I stood fingering the petals again, I knew what every parent has discovered -- that one bedraggled daisy meant more to me than any professional bouquet ever could. It was precious because it was a token of love from Bethany, given not from duty or obligation, but simply to say "I was thinking about you and wanted to tell you I love you." It was the fact that she had taken time in the middle of her play to remember me. It didn't matter what the flower looked like, or that it could be considered a weed by others. I loved it anyway.
As I watched Bethany pat mud into a variety of flat, round shapes out in the backyard, I wondered -- have I brought God any flowers lately? I am His child. My moments of worship during the day are like the little daisy, picked just to say "I remember you, and I love you." I want to be able to stop my "play" during the day to offer God small tokens of my love and adoration, despite the smudges of daily living on my cheeks. A quick prayer, a simple song, a moment to read about Him in the scriptures, a simple smile and "thanks" ... all can be like my bedraggled daisy, offered to God out of love, rather than obligation. And my moments of worship don't need to be polished or professional. They can be as bedraggled and wilted as I am, yet God will cherish them just the same as I cherish a child's daisy.
And I wonder if, just perhaps, God puts my moments of worship in a glass in Heaven and allows the feeble sight to bring Him joy all through the day ... just like my one bedraggled daisy?