A few years ago, based on the recommendation of a dear friend (who actually gave me the book), I read The King Who Made Paper Flowers. It is the story of a group of marginalized people who, through various and sundry circumstances, find themselves living on the streets of Savannah, Georgia. Fortuitously, they each arrive at an abandoned warehouse where they’re invited to take up residence by a colorful benefactress who claims to own the property affectionately called The Castle. Convinced of their insignificance and unworthiness, these displaced souls drift through each day toward what they have come to accept as its inevitable conclusion – until a stranger steps off the bus and changes everything.
The protagonist arrives wearing a coat too heavy for the coastal climate over a wrinkled brown suit, carrying one large and one small suitcase, topped off with a brown felt hat. His youthful countenance gives the impression of innocence, but his stride reveals otherwise. Most are captivated by his unassuming, gracious manner. His willingness to listen intently leads others to share openly about themselves. Peering deeply into their hearts, he reflects back those qualities they had thought nonexistent or lost, inspiring them to become the worthwhile, lovable person he sees.
This character has a penchant for making paper flowers, (a craft my mother mastered, but sadly, failed to pass on to me). He presents these delicate works of art to anyone whose path he crosses to express gratitude or just because they seemed to need one. The recipient might be someone who had shown him kindness, someone who needed encouragement, someone who just needed to be noticed, but it might just as easily be someone who had wronged him. In most instances, the effect was transformative, in some cases instantaneously, in others delayed; in some cases minute, in others absolute. His loving kindness kindles hope.
Inspired by this parable, illustrating the power of leading by example, I ordered a supply of sunflower seed packets with the message “Love is grown where seeds are sown,” printed on the front. Armed with my paper flower substitutes, it didn’t take long to meet befitting recipients. While slightly awkward at first, the delighted reaction completely extinguished my initial hesitation.
Yesterday morning I presented the next-to-last packet to a woman in the Aldi’s parking lot. She was just putting the last of her groceries in the trunk of her car as we pulled in. Since the store attendant is no longer wiping the shopping carts before providing them to customers at the door, she offered Jerry the one she’d used, assuring him she’d cleaned it thoroughly. Intending to give her a quarter, the customary practice, I discovered there were none to be found in the cupholder or my wallet. She waved us off and said not to worry about it. Having thanked her, I went to return the wallet to my purse and discovered a packet of seeds. Anxious to catch her before she left, I dashed around the car calling, “Excuse me! Just a minute!” She reiterated there was no need for repayment, to which I replied, “Yes, but I want to give you these.” When she saw what they were her face lit up. She exclaimed, “I’m going to go home and plant these right now! Thank you!” “Enjoy,” I replied. I’m not sure which of us was more blessed by the exchange. Kindness, it seems, is mutually transformative. Time to order more seeds.
