The scarlet flower

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic
Jenny's world is turned upside down when her husband leaves her. She ends up in the hospital after attempting to commit suicide and is left in a state of depression. When a mysterious man gives her a plant which grows to be a unknown, red flower, how will this change her life?

Submitted: January 23, 2012

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Submitted: January 23, 2012

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A month ago I had stood in front of my husband, Wesley, already battered and bruised by his beating, when he had told me there was someone else and he wanted a divorce; shattering my already cracked heart. 

 

A week ago we had stood in court, finalizing the divorce and each going our separate ways.  He didn’t glance back once at me.  I glanced at him pretty much a thousand times. 

 

A day ago I had finally broken down and swallowed an entire bottle of pills. 

 

And today?

 

Today I lay in a hospital bed after being found by the local pastor, half dead on the bed Wesley and I used to share. 

 

It was lonely in the silent room and I flipped through channels on the television set.  On every channel was some type of love show, and finally, I switched of the television. 

 

I had to get every image of Wesley out of my mind, though I knew it was nearly impossible, since Wesley was my one true love. 

 

I pinched my eyes shut and images of our good days—before the alcohol and drugs—flashed through my head.  What had happened to those days?  Where had they gone?

 

I opened my eyes again and almost jumped out of my bed when I found two shocking blue lakes, more than eyes, staring down at me. 

 

I gasped. 

 

“Shh.” His voice was rich and calming.  “I was sent to give you something.”

 

I studied him for moment.  He had loose white clothes and brown sandals that looked more like they could have been worn by Moses.  His curly, blonde hair hung down to his shoulders and his gentle, blue eyes were resting on me, patiently waiting. 

 

“What is it?” I finally asked.

 

He held his hand out to me, palm up.  In it, was nestled a small box with tiny breathing holes. 

 

Was it a living thing?

 

I took the box from him and opened it.  It had damp cotton in it. 

 

“It’s a seed.  Take good care of it,” he said. 

 

“Why, thank you.  What type of seed?”

 

No answer came. 

 

I looked towards where he had been standing, but he was gone. 

 

How…?

 

Could he possibly have gotten to the door that fast?

 

I shook my head. 

 

Men.

 

A month later, I planted the seedling in my garden.  It grew and a beautiful; scarlet flower bloomed. 

 

I had never seen a flower like it before in my life.  I got every professional I could get my hands on to try and identify it, but no one could.  They all said that they had never seen anything close to its beauty before. 

 

I ignored the fact that no one knew where this flower came from and how it had gotten there after a while.  Every morning I sat on the swing that Wesley had hung on one of the trees and looked at the flower.  Something about it made me think. 

 

It had a green stem leading up to the scarlet petals.  Two cup-like petals hung opposite ways, exposing its inside.  Out of it grew a yellow stem with a round top. 

 

To tell the truth, from where I sat it almost looked like a person with their arms outstretched towards the sky, like the Christians worshipped. 

 

One morning when I was looking at the flower, pastor Kayla came walking towards me.  She was the pastor that had found me after I drank the pills and who visited me practically every day. 

 

“Allo, Jenny,” she said in her heavy British accent with a soft smile on her face.  “How you doin’, love?”

 

“I’m okay, thank you Pastor.”

 

“You still callin’ me Pastor?  I’m your friend, Jenny.  You can call me Kayla.”

 

“I’m sorry.  I keep forgetting.”  I stood and offered her the swing. 

 

She shook her head.  “Sit, love.  I’ll sit right here on the grass.”  She sat down and crossed her legs. 

 

“What can I do ya for, love?” I asked with a teasing smile. 

 

She chuckled.  “Actually I wanted to know if I could do anything for you?”

 

“I’m fine.  Thank you, Kayla.”

 

She glanced at the scarlet flower, where my attention had wandered to yet again.  She gasped.  “What a beautiful sight!” she said, standing up and striding to it. 

 

I followed her. 

 

She gently stroked the petals.  “Look.  It looks like us.  When we lift our hands to God, we open our lives, our insides, to him and he covers us with the scarlet blood of Christ. 

 

“Really?  You think?”

 

“Love, I never think.  It makes you nervous when you think.  I KNOW.”

 

I remembered the man that had given me the flower that day in the hospital.  I also remembered that angels were always portrayed in white clothing.  “Kayla?”

 

“Yes, love?”

 

“Will you give me a lift to church on Sunday?  Wesley took the car when he left.”

 

“Of course I will, Jen.”

 

The next day, the scarlet flower was dead.  I covered it with soil and smiled.  “Thanks for sending this, God.  I got the message.”

 

Two months after this, I was working in the kitchen, singing to myself without a care in the world. 

 

My cell phone rang, and without checking the ID, I answered with a cheerful, “Hello!”

 

“Um… Hey, Jenny.”

 

I could have known that voice from anywhere.  “Wesley?”

 

I heard him gulp.  “That’s me.”

 

“Hi.  Are you okay?”  There must be something terribly wrong for him to be calling ME. 

 

“Actually, no.  We need to talk.”

 

“About?”

 

“Jenny, I met someone.  A man.  He turned my world around and he told me to do something.”

 

“What’s that, Wesley?”

 

“He wants me to…”  He coughed and I knew he was crying. 

 

I was so glad he had called me on the phone instead of coming to the house.  Otherwise I would have fallen into his arms by now. 

 

“I need to tell you that I’m sorry… And… I made a huge mistake leaving you.  And I need you to forgive me.”

 

A tear rolled down my cheek.  “I forgive you, Wesley.”  It came more easily than I ever imagined it could. 

 

There was silence on the other end of the line.  I could picture him gaping at my rapid response.  Finally he said, “Oh my word.  Jenny, I never thought you’d say that!  Honey, this guy that I met; His name is Jesus.  He’s amazing!  You have to meet him!  Well, actually you can’t MEET him in a literal term, ‘cause—“

“Wesley,” I whispered, a tear gliding over my upturned lips.  “I’ve already met him.”


© Copyright 2020 Abigail Wiese. All rights reserved.

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