Over time, the seed grew into a tiny, green sprout. The young couple kept their constant care and watch over this little plant. They knew it was delicate and needed extra care to make it grow just right. Then, the sprout became a light green stem with leaves. A little while after that, a bud appeared at the top of this strong stem. The couple continued to pour their love into this small plant. It took longer than they thought, but the bud finally opened and brought forth the most beautiful deep purple flower, and it was called Lisianthus. The couple had cared for it very well as the beautiful flower had developed, and they now thought it was time to send it to someone whom they thought needed hope from its beauty. They remembered that they had a younger neighbor down the street who had broken her arm.
The young woman tenderly dug up the flower, careful to lift up all of its roots as well, and placed it all into a light brown ceramic pot. She grabbed a little baggy of plant food, and had bought a small watering can for their neighbor. Then, she was on her way down the street!
She knocked on the girl's door. The younger girl answered, with a grim smile on her face. She seemed to be in her lower twenties. "Come in," she said with a piece of depression in her eyes. The women talked with one another for a little while. The woman said to the girl after a while, "I've brought you something I hope will cheer you up!" The girl took the pot from the woman's hands and thanked her. After a few more minutes of small talk, the woman left. The girl took the flower, with a little bit of trouble because of her cast, and placed it on the kitchen counter next to the beautiful silver sink and walked out of the room.
Lisianthus was left all alone. She thought to herself, "Oh, she'll be back to water and feed me, I'm sure of it!" She waited . . . And waited . . . Hours later, the girl reappeared. She made herself dinner and ate it at the kitchen table all by herself. It was quiet except for the occasional muttering she would make, "Oh, if only I were healed again" or "Oh, if I only had a husband to help me." Lisianthus felt sad for the poor girl. "Maybe I can make her happy!" she thought. She also thought that maybe the girl would see her and remember to feed and water her. But the girl just walked right past her, washing the dishes and putting them in the dish washer. After she closed the dish washer, the girl looked up to see the flower sitting perfectly still in the pot. She said to herself, "Oh, I'll give it a little water, it looks healthy enough." She filled the small watering can halfway full and watered the thirsty plant. After the girl walked out of the room, Lisianthus gave a tiny sigh of relief. "She didn't forget me after all! Maybe she'll be good to me. I hope I can make her happy."
The next day, the girl was late for work, so she grabbed a granola bar and a bottle of water, and ran out of the door in a hurry, forgetting to feed or water the flower. For hours, poor Lisianthus waited for the girl to return, but she didn't come back until midnight that night. The girl had been to a party, and she had brought a man home with her. The man got the girl into her room, and closed her door. He looked over to see the flower, and grabbed it. The flower awoke to a start, for even flowers sleep, and became scared. Who was this strange man? Where was he taking her? "I didn't even have the chance to make the girl happy!"
The man started his car and flung the flower into the passenger seat. Dirt bounced off into the leather seat of the convertible he was driving, causing the flower to gasp. The man didn't seem to hear her, though, as he sped away. His driving was reckless, and the car smelled of something strange that Lisianthus didn't recognize. Suddenly, he made a sharp turn that caused his car to flip over on its side. Lisianthus and the pot flew out of the window, breaking glass and spilling shards of it everywhere as it landed on the side of the road. Grass had cushioned her fall, but even so, the pot cracked underneath her. The air was chilly, and it was dark outside. Flashing lights came and went, paying no attention to her. She whimpered. "Maybe someone will come to help me," she cried. Within a few hours, she gradually faded into slumber.
What seemed like minutes later but was really several hours later, she woke up with a start. It had started to pour rain, and there was no shelter to protect her. In minutes, her pot would be flooded. Indeed it did flood, and she felt like she was drowning. When she felt like she could breathe no more, the sun peeked out of the clouds. She sighed of relief, because she knew that the sun was good; it would dry up most of the water in her pot. The sun did dry up the pot, days later, but it was to the point where her pot became too dry. She needed water! And soon. She tried to cry out for help, but of course humans can't hear flowers talk.
Over the course of the week, she remained on the grassy side of the road. People walked past her every day; they would look at her, but none of them did anything to help her. The green grass beneath her, her leaves, and her beautiful deep purple petals became a nasty brown color, and shriveled up. She gradually became more tired. "Am I going to die?" her voice was barely audible. She was scared to think so, but if it was to happen, she would rather die than have to live out here and be so miserable.
All of a sudden, a ragged old man was walking on the side of the road and stopped in front of the flower. He whispered a "wow!" to himself, seeing the once beautiful flower now wilted and shriveled up from the lack of care and attention that it needed. "Poor thing, I'll take you home with me," he told the flower. He picked up the flower along with her cracked pot and kept walking. He came across some men who looked like him: dusty and dirty, some of them toothless in the front. They laughed at him and called him a "tree hugger" and a "flower child." He said to them, "This poor flower has been through a lot; I'm going to restore it and protect it as long as it lives." The men laughed at him again, calling the flower a helpless cause. "It's just one stupid flower!" they chimed. But the old man kept on walking, not seeming to care about what they said.
They reached his home, which was almost a shack of a place. He opened the fragile wooden door, and entered into his kitchen. He placed the flower down by his own sink, which was also as old and cracked as he was. She noticed that he was all alone. The old man walked out of the room for a few minutes. Lisianthus was scared and thought to herself, "He's just going to mistreat me like those other people have. Nobody can help me now; I've shriveled up to nothing. Even if he does try to get me well again, what good is a flower like me anyway? I just sit and look pretty; I don't do anything special or useful." The old man walked back into the kitchen; in his right hand, he had a plastic watering can and in his left, some fertilizer. He fertilized the plant and watered it, and he did that every single day. He was careful not to overwater/feed her, but made sure she had enough. The old man replaced the cracked pot with a brand new one. He poured his love into her every day.
Finally, she did get better, and was as beautiful as she had been before. The old man continued to take care of her, even though she was better, because he knew that flowers are delicate things that should be taken care of constantly. One day, he thought out loud to the flower, "I have a little neighbor girl that lives next door who has a broken leg; I bet she would really love to have you sit in her room." Lisianthus was scared. What if she didn't want her? What if she was mistreated again? What if she didn't do what she was supposed to do? The old man picked up the pot and cradled it in his wrinkled and spotted arms as he walked out of his door, which seemed to say to her, "Nevermind that, trust me."
He knocked on another old wooden door similar to his, and a middle-aged woman answered. She welcomed him in with a genuine, smiling face and they talked for a few minutes. Then, he presented her with the potted flower, and she gasped. "It's beautiful!" she cried. "Oh, Mary would absolutely love it. That flower would brighten that dull and desperate room of hers." She took the flower and gently carried it to the child's room. Mary, the girl, who seemed to be about eight years old, was sitting up on her bed. She had been crying and the tears stained on her face were evidence of that. The woman set Lisianthus down on a small bedside table beside her. "Look what Mr. Ben brought for you!" she exclaimed with genuine delight. "Isn't that nice of him?" The little girl nodded, scrubbing the tears off of her face to hide her sadness. The woman left the room, and Lisianthus was alone with Mary. "I hope I can do my job well," she thought to herself.
The girl stared at Lisianthus for a long time, not seeming to be affected by her beauty. Then, she smiled. A genuine smile. She grabbed a piece of paper, and started drawing. Then she laughed after she had finished. She was happy again! Lisianthus was beaming. She had done her job well, thanks to the old man who had found her and made her well and beautiful again.
-- This is a story I came up with laying on my bed this afternoon. Lisianthus, the flower, represents each person on earth. No matter how strong you think you are, people are very delicate, just like flowers are. The people she was given to at first represent the sin in our world. The flower was mistreated and fell into the world of sin. Unlike the flower, we are all sinners. The old man who rescued her and restored her represents Jesus; He restores us even in a fallen world, and calls us to Himself to have a deep, intimate relationship with Him. Then, after He restores us, He sends us back out into the world for a special job, like the old man "gave" to Lisianthus: to give hope to others, by telling others about Christ, spreading the Gospel and making disciples. I hope this story encourages you!
