He Loves Me…. He Loves Me Not

As a child, I roamed the land around my grandmother’s house.  Her little country house was nestled in a world of greenery.  Her gardens laid to the right of her home where we gorged ourselves on her fruitfulness and bounties.  Behind her house by the creek grew these beautiful tall orange flowers.  I have no idea what they were but I can remember looking up to the sky and be in majestic awe as they towered over me.  Just out her front door and too your left was her giant rose bush and snowball bush.  Once past the snowball bush, her iris patch and wild strawberries could be enjoyed.

I loved her old house with its front porch….. where I shelled beans and peas all summer long.  But it was the dirt drive down from the paved road to her house that I found the most pleasure.   The forestry’s canopy lined the old dirt road.  The canopy shaded the hot summer sun from us as we walked up and down it looking for treasures…… odd shaped rocks, sticks and my favorite the Black-eyed Susans.  I would pluck one bloom and tarry down the road pulling one petal at a time repeating the old wives’ prophesy, “He loves me, He loves me not.”

How silly to put your faith in the petals of a Black-eyed Susan.  I was heartbroken every time it ended on “He loves me not.”  I cried myself silly thinking that I would never marry Bo Duke. I had my heart set on moving out to the Duke farm and living with Uncle Jessie.  ((sigh))

Anyway, the other morning, I picked a couple of daisy blooms.  As I placed them on my kitchen table I remembered those Black-eyed wonders and my little game.  I gazed over those two little blooms.  Their simple beauty.

God’s little wonder.  Simple. Elegant.

I ran my finger across those soft dew-kissed petals.  He loves me.

I saw the impurities, the scars of living out in my attempt of a garden….. bruised petals.  I touched it and wondered if it hurt as bad as my own scars.  He loves me.

He loves me.  Never the other alternative….. never will God say, “He loves me not.”  He loves me in spite of the imperfections and He looks past my scars to see only the simple beauty He created.

Oh, Thank God….. He loves me.

1 John 4:7  Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God.

God Bless……


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