Date: Wed, 14 May 1997 23:56:24 -0300
From: Joy Pople
Subject: Re: GVI A world Without God


Two Red Roses
by Joy Pople

It's Wednesday and there are only two red roses left in our garage.
Their destinations haven't been decided.
I ordered boxes and boxes of roses, carnations, mums and the
trimmings for Mothers' Day. I sold out early on Easter and thought I could
do real well last Sunday. However, Billy, who owns the bagel shop in North
Syracuse where I've been selling for years, decided to let a high school
athletic team sell in his parking lot, because they are local, they
patronize his business regularly, and they are non-profit. I bowed before
his logic and with a van crammed with buckets headed east looking for some
place to set up.
I found a friendly face in an ice cream store at the entrance to a
strip mall in Bridgeport, a village even smaller than Baldwinsville. I sold
several buckets on Saturday. I have a soft spot in my heart for kids
wanting to buy flowers for their moms, so I let them buy roses for half or
two-thirds of my usual price. When customers were accompanied by
children,
I gave the little ones the roses and carnations with broken stems. I
presented the owner of the ice cream store a premium bouquet of lavender
and white roses. Her daughter kept coming by for shortie roses and
carnations.
On Sunday I arrived early expecting a busy day. Every five or ten
minutes a car pulled over. *Happy Mother's Day to you,* people would say
after buying flowers. *that is, if you are a mother yourself.* *I am,* I
replied. *Why didn't you bring your children along with you?* Small-town
America is family-oriented.
A stopped-shouldered lady slowly dragged her shopping cart by me.
*Did anyone give you a rose yet today?* I called out. She slowly shook her
head. *Then let me give you one,* I said walking over to her. Her shoulders
lifted a bit.
I can't help it. I like giving flower away. Since I bought them
with my money I can do whatever I want with them. One of the hardest
parts
about selling for church teams was not being able to give away flowers if
my heart told me to do so.
Would I feel this urge if there were no God? Would volunteers
answer our appeals from the Volunteer Center, if God didn't create us with
this nature to give, this willingness to give and give whether we receive
anything tangible in return? Would we feel a joy in giving if there were no
God whose core nature was to experience joy through creative give and take?
The Mothers' Day sun set on buckets of bouquets. More than selling
them, it's an even greater challenge to give away large quantities of
flowers. There's plans to make, address lists compiled and routes drawn up.
People keep asking why you are giving them flowers. People want to invite
you in to chat, and you think about the flowers in the van losing their
freshness by the hour.
I took roses to our volunteer drivers. I gave them to retired
engineers, men who will take a sick person anywhere in the county on a few
hours notice, who responded with pleased surprise. One shy, reserved
recipient began to talk about how she coped with her grief while recovering
from a mastectomy.
Do you know that blind women love receiving flowers? The corners of
their mouths turn up, and their eyes sparkle. Old ladies who call me at
the office for rides to the doctor opened their doors and invited me in
without understanding my introduction of myself as Joy from the Volunteer
Center. The next morning something would click, and they would call me at
the office to say thanks.
Eighteen astonished Christmas Bureau committee members each got a
half dozen roses. *A small token of appreciation,* was my explanation. A
thank-you card arrived today from Enid. It reads, *In life's garden,
kindness is the sweetest flower.* Liz wasn't home, but I put the feet of
the roses in moist soil near her front door where she would be sure to see
them. Today she told me, *I was going to get mad at you for sending a
newspaper reporter to interview me [ I mentioned her as an example of
someone who has chosen to live simply and sacrificially in order to serve
the community], but when I found the roses, I couldn't.* [I had told the
reporter that Liz would surely deny that she was anyone special.]
Forty-five bouquets went to the Meals on Wheels kitchen to be
delivered along with food for the homebound. A dozen roses went to the
local domestic violence shelter, where vases had been empty all weekend.
The Rescue Mission thrift shop found a pitcher to hold 25 roses to be given
out to customers. There's a contagion about giving. Roses went to the
librarian who helps pre-teens put on plays, Stacy's piano teacher, my
dentist, the Chamber of Commerce secretary, the owner of the Laundromat.
I've had the roses for a week now, and their stalks are still
straight and their heads firm. A woman who raises goats traded tulips for
roses. When Pat's not busy handling logistics for fundraisers, she makes
goat cheese. She says you can take out the stamens and pistils from inside
the blossom and use them as cups for serving ice cream.
I'm still not sure who will receive the remaining two roses.


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