God’s Gifted Trail.

Sometimes things are not explainable. We scratch our heads till our brains are sore, yet we don’t get it—and we may never understand. Sometimes the Lord simply blesses us with a gift that just can’t fit into a package making sense. And so, all we can do is smile, and tell the story. I’m a storyteller. Here’s my story.

This summer was bittersweet. Anniversaries can be hard. Last month my family faced the intersection of two big events. In one hand, we were sharing the joy of our middle son graduating high school. In the other, July 20th marked 15 years since my first wife and mother of two of our children had passed away.

It was a hard crossroads to stand on. Grief is like that. It never goes away, lingering a trail you walk forever.

Yet the Lord is good. And He dots flowers on that trail.

Speaking of flowers, my first wife, Becca, loved to plant them. She planted flowers all around the house. I don’t remember the names of the flowers she planted—I maybe never knew them—but there was a lot of color when she was done planting, and it brought a smile to her face.

A favorite of hers was the sunflower. She had a flowerbed alongside the house specifically for sunflowers. It was nice to pull the car up and be welcomed by the bright yellow summertime faces. I loved them too. She began decorating the house with sunflowers. Our bathroom became a sunflower room with shower curtain, soap pumps, and framed photos of her flowers.

When she died, the sunflower oddly became synonymous with her in ways. An icon of ironic beauty. The saddest, most beautiful flower of the summer.

15 years is a short, long time. As the years went on, so did boy’s interests. They became heavily involved in racing, plunging into the sport of motocross. Weekends meant races. Weekdays meant prepping for races. A natural progression occurred as we modified things around the house to make racing and practicing easier.

And one day, I came home to a construction zone.

The two older boys had a skid loader in the driveway. They had removed the flowerbed before I could stop them. “Dad, we’re making a bike washing station.” They thought it was important. I thought it was ridiculous. A rubber mat was installed. Concrete blocks lined the area where the bikes would be pressure washed. An outdoor, weatherproof electric outlet was wired. It was intense.

And for years, bikes were washed where flowers once grew.

But as time neared the crossroads of the graduation party and the 15-year anniversary, a curious thing was happening.

Could it be?

Sometimes things are not explainable. We scratch our heads till our brains are sore, yet we don’t get it—and we may never understand. Sometimes the Lord simply blesses us with a gift that just can’t fit into a package making sense. And so, all we can do is smile, and tell the story.

Getting ready for a graduation party is hard work. There is a lot to do and a lot to be done. It was late. Dark. I was outside wondering what else needed attention. And when I spun around, its bloom about knocked me over. What? How? I did a double take, then looked over the railing to see how it could possibly have grown. The sunflower stalk had grown up through the hole of a concrete block. Who would have ever thought?

Yet the Lord is good.

And He dots flowers on that trail.

It has been 15 years since Becca has been here with us. She hasn’t planted sunflowers in that spot for at least 17 years. And yet there I was, standing in the dark, looking square in the face of one of her flowers. A miracle? A gift from God? It blew me away like a hurricane, then left me speechless to how good the Lord is to us.

I called the kids. Faerie, my current wife, came out to take some pics. It was a special moment. One nobody could believe.

And God didn’t stop there. The graduation party happened. Our son had a blast. It was everything we wanted for him—and everything his mom would have wanted for him, too. And somehow, in some way I have no idea how to explain, it felt like she was able to partake in it. Crazy, I know. But while everyone was talking, telling stories, and reuniting after years of not seeing each other, there was a sunflower standing at the end of the porch, at the head of the table, watching it all.

And I stopped to enjoy it. It made me smile. Because if nothing else, her flower got to watch.

Grief is like that. God walks you through the trail. Dotting flowers along the way.

He’s certainly walking me on mine.

By Chuck Carr