Dandelions by Me
She watched her dandelion vigilantly now.
It had slowly sprouted through the lush carpet of vegetation
And was now standing erect: tall and proud;
A symbol of defiance and hope
In its world of monotony and bleakness.

Her Father had told her he would have to kill it.
In the back of her mind, she knew it was the right and inevitable thing to do.
But her eyes welled with tears as the helpless plant was burrowed out
Until the very heart of the plant had been torn from its home and ripped apart.
For several minutes she sat there in numb shock.

Seeing the limp, lifeless weed, the girl’s tears hardened to ice.
Who needed that stupid flower anyway?
Not her. She had better ways to spend her summer afternoons.
She was glad it was dead—glad it was out of sight.
Now there would be room for her flowers.

Turning away, she began to weep again.
That dandelion was her flower.
She had nurtured it, cherished it, and loved every minute of its life.
But there was no way to undo the past.
Her Father looked on her with eyes that mirrored her pain.

The girl began to reflect on the future.
Would she ever nurture another flower?
Her mind told her yes, but her heart screamed no.
How could she put so much effort into such a fragile existence
If it was going to betray her like that?

She tried to blame her Father;
To blame the dandelion;
To blame herself.
But in the end, she couldn’t—
They had all suffered.

There would be other flowers,
But she wasn’t ready to think about that now.
The intense feelings of pain and anguish would not leave,
But she didn’t want to dwell on the pain just yet.
This dandelion would always hold a special place in her heart.

The girl climbed into her Father’s lap
And curled up in His arms.
For now, it was enough to know
That He had done what was best
For her and for the dandelion.