These flowers are called lily of the valley, and I picked them this morning from the back side of our house. They only produce flowers once per year in spring, and only then for a few weeks. Their smell is amazing – it’s incredible that such a tiny little flower bell can produce such a beautiful smell. In our house, having a few sprigs in a glass of water means the winter is fading away and we can look forward to the warm and sunny months ahead. Even more than that, these flowers carry a lot of significance beyond the hope of spring.

My father (David) is from Muncie, and I remember the house his parents (Hilda and Selby) lived in when I was a kid – you could see Ball State’s football stadium from the front yard. I most distinctly remember the smell of their patch of lily of the valley whenever we would visit in spring time.

My grandma passed away in 1996, and my grandpa in 2000. At some point before my dad and his brothers sold the house in Muncie, he transplanted part of that patch of lily of the valley to the house in which I grew up in Indianapolis. My sister Erin and I would pick them for my Mom (Julie) when we were young. When my Mom and Dad built a house in the mid 2000s, some of those flowers were moved from the old house to the new; and when Liz and I bought our house in Fishers, we got to transfer some to a flower bed on the back side of our house. So for me, these flowers don’t just smell great – they keep the memory of Grandma Hilda and Grandpa Selby alive in my soul. I really wish Liz could have met Hilda – they would have been thick as thieves.

The last few days have been really hard. The pain and discomfort Liz is enduring continue to grow, to the point where her toughness can’t always cover up how uncomfortable she feels. It’s borderline depressing to watch her go through it knowing there is nothing I can do to make her feel better.

I came home from the gym this morning and mowed the lawn real quick before getting to work, and as I came around the back of the house I saw the first few flowers and the scent filled my nose…I smiled and thought of Grandma Hilda. And I realized I can’t take Liz’s pain away, but I can put little reminders of hope in her world…these flowers are a good start.

CCM