A simple flower crown

As I herded the children into the minivan one day, I noticed the purple flowers (weeds) that had sprung up in our yard. Of course! This is the specific time they come each year! I grinned, and informed my children that we would make flower crowns...sometime, maybe later. 

That week flew by with errands and appointments aplenty, and before I knew it, we were driving out of town for the weekend. I looked at the patch of flowers and sighed, sad that we still hadn't made crowns. The next week came, and even though our calendar was emptier, a myriad of things occupied our time. Finally, on the Friday of that week, we went to a park for an informal soccer club. 

As I carried the infant car seat across the grass, I noticed that a section of the field had managed to escape the mower. White flowery weeds swished and swayed in the wind. The other moms followed  the children as they chased each other with soccer balls, and I plopped down. I eagerly pulled at the flowers and began winding and braiding them together. Soon, a flower crown perched atop my son's head as he raced after the soccer ball, declaring: "I'M KING OF THE SPRING!"

The next day, I sat in my front yard. Again, I braided and twisted flowers together. Crowns took shape and soon nestled on our heads. As I sat there, the thought occurred to me: When life is too busy to make flower crowns, it's too busy.

Perhaps due to my hobbit tendencies, I've lately been finding the value of the quiet moments of life: Of slowing down to bake loaf after loaf of einkorn bread. Of clearing our schedule so we can take a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. Of sitting in the grass and making flower crowns. 

And I begin to wonder what our cities would look like if we all chose to do this. If we threw aside our hesitance to look odd and flung down our phones and made the decision to simply be. If we felt the earth with our bare hands, breathed in the scent of nature, and praised the God who created this magnificent world. If we sat out front and spoke with that neighbor we've-always-seen-but-never-talked-to. If we began slowly shifting from a neighborhood of nameless faces to a community of people with lives and stories, sufferings and joys. 

Could a simple flower crown really change a community? Nothing is guaranteed, but we may as well try and see what happens.