We're enjoying a February warm spell and our property is abloom with wildflowers (mostly yellow ones). As I was out walking to the barn today, seeing all the flowers (the picture is of the flowers right outside my door!), I remembered how my kids had made wildflower crowns not too long ago. And I realized that I have not been wearing the wildflower-crown that God has made for me in life. I've been too busy, too tired, too overwhelmed.
I want to start wearing my crown again. Maybe you do too.
Here's the story that inspired me…
They came in giggling. All six of them with dirt smudges on their noses, grass stains on their knees. Laughing and dancing and flopping on the floor in a bundle of bubbling sibling delight.
“Don’t make a mess!” I gripped the dishtowel in one hand and peered out the kitchen. “No dirty shoes on the rug!”
“Don’t worry,” Joelle called. “We won’t.”
“Did you clean up the basement for community group?” I went back to drying the dishes.
No one answered.
“We’ve got a lot to do.”
Only another burst of giggles answered me.
I put my fists on my hips and stomped around the corner. “Hey, you --” The words caught.
My three-year-old skipped toward me, one hand on her head. “Look, Mommy, look what I’ve got. I’m wondrous beauty!” She pulled a crown of wildflowers from her hair. “See?”
I did see. I saw them all, with flowers adorning every head, with crowns woven of daisies and dandelions and little purple wildflowers. They were beautiful. Wondrous.
“Jayden made me a crown. Purple, your favorite color.”
I bent over and squeezed her tight. “You are a beautiful princess.” I stood up. “All of you.”
“Not me!” Jayden took the crown from his head and tossed it in the air. “Boys aren’t princesses.”
His sisters laughed. “You make the best crowns, though.”
He made a face and brushed sand from his hair and onto the rug.
Bethany, the eldest, stood. “Come on, let’s go make some more. Let’s make one for Dad!”
They jumped to their feet and raced out the door.
I shook my head and dried my hands on the towel as the door slammed shut and they scurried out onto the lawn. I paused by the window, watching. Legs scampered across the grass, hair glistened in the sun, small bodies flung themselves toward the patch of flowers growing near the driveway. Sunshine and color and beauty and hope, adorned with wildflowers.
A moment later, they were sitting in a tight circle. Fingers flashed as they wove stems into head-sized circlets. Joelle placed a crown on Jayna, Bethany put one on Bria, while the littlest one worked hard to weave one that I knew would be for big brother, who would wear it even though he was NOT a princess.
With crowns complete, they stood and began singing at the top of their lungs. They danced in circles. They ran; they leapt; they rolled on the grass. And I was reminded of Zephaniah 3:17 (NIV), “The Lord your God is with you... He will take great delight in you; in his love he will...rejoice over you with singing.”
This is what rejoicing looked like. This wildness, and joy, and dancing, and running, and tumbling. And singing that was more like a shout than a song. This was the kind of joy God offered me in Zephaniah 3:17.
He offered me a crown of wildflowers.
I looked down at the dishtowel, still in my hands. There was work to be done, dusting and laundry and dishes and food preparation for our group. I had a to-do list a mile long. How would I get it all done?
Then, came a whisper in my soul: “Do not worry about tomorrow... (Mt. 6:34)... I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these ... (Mt. 6:29)”
Not even Solomon was dressed like one of these children, with their dirt-smudged noses, their grass-mussed knees, their flower-crowned heads. God had adorned them with beauty, not because of their work but because of his love. They were princesses (well, except for Jayden), with crowns to match. They were daughters of the King.
And so was I.
I dropped the dishtowel and called out the window. “Hey, who’s going to make a crown for Mom?”
Then, I danced toward the door.