For Such is The Kingdom of God

Author's Note: Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals mentioned in these stories.

A few weeks ago a dear friend of mine gave me a flower. I didn't think much of it at the time, but in the days and weeks that followed, I've come to greatly appreciate this small act of love, and have been moved by this simple act. Something within my soul has been stirred by it, in fact; and I thought I'd share a bit about what I've experienced about this exchange here.

The friend I'm referring to is 4 years old. Her name is Sophy, and the flower she gave me was a dandelion.

I, together with two friends, stopped by her house to deliver a care package to her mother, who was scheduled to have surgery in the coming days. Within a few moments of seeing me, Sophy had picked this flower up off the ground and handed it to me without any forethought or hesitation. I took the flower, told her thank you and then placed it behind my ear. She went off to play with her sister, while my friends and I conversed with her mother. At one point I picked up Sophy, held her in my arms and asked her where her flower was. She looked all around and, with a little help from mom, found the flower nestled behind my ear. She smiled with glee and began to squirm — a 4-year-old's way of communicating a desire to be let down. I returned her to the ground, at which point she scurried off to play again with her younger sister.

Gifts delivered, conversations had, well wishes on a successful surgery given... my friends and I piled into my car to leave, but as we did so, Sophy's mom yelled out to me and pointed to her ear — a reminder that I still had Sophy's flower tucked behind mine. I smiled, grabbed the flower, dropped it on the ground, climbed into the car and drove away.

A day or two after the visitation, I latched on to the sweet profundity of Sophy's gift. Looking back on it, I wish I had kept the flower.

First, there's the inhabitation regarding the gift. There was no, "What will he think if I give him a flower?", "What is the underlying message I might subconsciously be trying to convey with this gift?", "Am I giving this gift to him because I want to, or because it's expected of me?", etc. There's just, "I see my friend. I want to give him a flower." That's it. There was something profoundly sweet, spontaneous and genuine in this gift that I absolutely loved.

I've been reading a book called, "Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life" for the past few weeks. The author broaches many existential topics, but one of the core themes throughout the book is exerting effort to live in a manner that honors your own authentic self. The author goes into detail about individuals who have traversed their lives exerting effort into pleasing and seeking to gain approval from others (parents, spouses, friends, etc.). At one point he speaks of a gifted teacher who felt obligated to go into law.

He had in fact left what he loved, in service to the expectations of parents and spouse, and grown miserable in turn. (Hollis, 149)

How much of what we do each day is done because it's expected of us, and how much of what we do is done because we are operating from a genuine desire found within?

Find what is true for you; find the courage to live it in the world; and the world will in time come to respect you. (Hollis, 184)

Sophy saw me, and felt compelled to give me a flower without thought. Looking back, of all the interactions I had on that particular day, this interaction with Sophy strikes me as one of, if not the most authentic.

The second thing that strikes me about this interaction is the gift itself: A dandelion. At some point in my life, it was ingrained in me that dandelions were a scourge to look down upon and detest... definitely not a gift to treasure. I don't know that I've ever really contemplated the beauty or the complexity of a single dandelion before... at least not to the degree I have these past few weeks. Despite how common a simple dandelion is, there is an undeniable beauty there. Given my decades of cultural conditioning, it is a beauty I've been trained to overlook, but Sophy knows instantly that this is a pretty object to be admired. She has not yet been indoctrinated to appreciate one flower more than others, or to treat one as favored and another as despised. I applaud her for that.

Sophy's preferential treatment of the simple dandelion makes me think of Salvador Dalí walking through the streets of Paris with an anteater on a leash, or any of Steven Shore's photographs of ordinary imagery. There's something unapologetically original about what they're doing and the originality and authenticity in and of itself makes observers like you and me stop and take notice. Sophy gifted me a dandelion. I now think of Sophy and her authentic, kind nature every time I come across one.

The third thing I was struck by: There was no thought of reciprocity with regard to the gift she gave me. She gave me the flower and then scurried off to play with her sister as I recall. The act was not meant to compel me to give her anything in return. She simply wanted to express an appreciation and care for me, and the purity of that expression warms my heart each time I reminisce on the moment. The interaction was especially tender for me because I was feeling a bit sad that day as I recall, and Sophy's tenderness toward me lifted my spirits.

¹⁶ But Jesus called them to Him, and said, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them. For of such is the Kingdom of God. ¹⁷ “Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child, shall not enter therein.” ~ Luke 18:16-17 (RGT)

I share this scripture, not to proselytize a belief in a heaven or an afterlife, but to argue that children like Sophy accomplish a purer, fuller, more serene, and honest existence by remaining grounded in their own connection to themselves. I look to myself and see a person who has many times acted out of obligation or fear. How rich life would be if I had possessed the courage to maintain a connection to what I know to be authentically me and act in accordance with what I truly wanted to do... what path I wanted to follow.

Recently I have found myself actively attempting to reconnect to my authentic self. I'm working to strengthen the muscle of self-trust; which, I'm ashamed to say, has atrophied over the past several years. I'm very grateful for examples like my friend Sophy, who encourage me and compel me to strive for a more authentic, joyful, contented manner of existence.

Works Sited:
James Hollis, Ph.D., Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life, Avery, 2005