she brought me a dandelion and said it was from God. this girl with the brown hair and the blue eyes and she brought me a dandelion and told me he’d told her to pick it.
it was the tallest of weeds, a stringy thing and it had all but blown away. and she soft touched my arm.
“he said your words would be like the seeds of this dandelion, blowing far, and planting thick, and growing many… ” and i cried.
and i cried three weeks as i held my newborn and my agent whispered words into phone, and this publisher had worked with me a year, believing in my project, helping me make it succeed, but the marketing team could not be convinced and so, i cried.
a year, seeming-wasted, and it was so hard to believe in the dandelion which lay pressed in my bible between pages of the psalms.
pressed but not crushed, persecuted but not abandoned the bible says, and this project, it’s an extension of soul: it’s my story of anorexia spread across page, and it’s words to help families who walk this secret journey and the church says nothing, so afraid of sin, and so i speak but who will hear?
yet the dandelion lies pressed and i press on and from deep within the voice of God saying “this story is not finished.”
it’s a voice i’ve learned to trust and so i write and i believe, for to some, dandelions are more than weeds.
1. link up a post (old or new) that you feel is ‘broken’ or ‘imperfect’ or somehow redemptive
2. put the ‘imperfect prose’ button at the bottom of your post, so others can find their way back here (see button code in right-hand column of my blog)
3. read other’s prose, and encourage them!
*the prints and original of “Field of Flowers” are available here