Fresh as a Daisy?
Every summer about this time, Shasta daisies transform the path between our house and shop, smiling and uncomplicated and friendly as they reach out to brush your hand. Planted by another gardener in another time, these tough flowers are as reliable as winter rains and as cheery as sunrise in the spring.
But if I could post a picture of their fragrance . . . you’d see dirty diapers or a pile of sweaty socks. If you walked by them with me, you might ask, “What’s that terrible smell?”—and I’d apologize for the effluvia emanating from the pretty scene. Turns out that these clean white flowers emit an odor so pernicious that it makes you want to hold your nose.
So, picturesque as they are, we’ve tinkered with the idea of moving them—somewhere where they can be seen, but only from a distance.
But for now, their reeking incongruity provides a reminder that there’s much more to life than what we can see.
As I walk past the daisies to the car tomorrow morning, I’m going to remember that I’d rather my life be a fragrance to God than a pleasant ornament to this world. Amid the sweat of the day’s labors, I’m testing more than deodorant—I’m exposing my true character.
If it’s Jesus who’s revealed when I’m weary or disappointed or uncertain, if His fragrance wafts on the air whenever people get close to my life, then my day will be a success no matter what I get done. If through my life there is the scent of Jesus’ patience in frustration, the aroma of His endurance through exhaustion, the clean, fresh smell of His purity when surrounded by corruption, then a day of ordinary things will be a day of unknown opportunity and private joys.
What will we do with our daisies? I suppose we could plant roses, but then we’d have to think of the thorns. . .
". . . through us [God] spreads the fragrance
of the knowledge of Him everywhere.
For we are the aroma of Christ to God
among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing . . ."
(II Corinthians 2:14–15)
© July 2011 by Robert G. Robbins
The thistle at our back door