Seeing heaven in a wildflower

To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

And eternity in an hour. William Blake

My mom, Lois Coogle, was never much of one for “store bought.” She was a firm believer in making it yourself whether it was furniture or clothes for her four daughters. My brother, Lee, seemed exempt from homemade clothing. Lucky Lee. Mom was better with a paintbrush than a needle.

Not spending money was just one of the reasons Mom liked to do things herself. The other was that she had an incredible and impressive ability to see potential in things other people would either ignore (at best) or throw away (more often.)

As a child, I hid my head in embarrassment more than once as my mother stopped to go through the neighbor’s trash piled on the street. Inevitably she’d drag out something – a broken chair or an old lamp – and bring it home. As soon as she walked in the door, she’d call out “Ken! (my dad) Ken! I have a little five minute job for you!”

My dad, probably the most patient man in the world, would take her trash and make it functional and then she would infuse it with creativity. She’d clean and paint it a plain color then add beautiful designs of fruits or flowers. And then she’d sell it, making a tidy profit from things other people had thrown away.

Mom’s trash – to – treasure attitude extended to flowers. I never remember her buying flowers for anything. “Why would you?” she would ask, “when the garden and the woods are full of things you can use.”

For decades she took “flower” arrangements to her Sunday school class at Peachtree Road United Methodist Church. Every Sunday. When the garden was in bloom, it wasn’t a problem. Daylilies and phlox, roses and daisies went into her arrangements.

In the dead of winter, though, her arrangements became more creative. Nothing was without potential. She never saw weeds, she only saw wildflowers. Dried grasses, bare twigs, autumn leaves, pine branches…..she could somehow make them all look elegant and beautiful – or at least interesting.

If anyone could see “heaven in a wildflower” I’m sure it was my Mom. We never talked about grains of sand, but I am completely confident that in them, she could see an entire world.

I am so grateful for this legacy, so proud to be her daughter. Every time I write a line or paint a flower, I think of her, but perhaps I miss her most when I pick a clump of weeds and call them wildflowers. I imagine her in heaven, picking weeds and painting something beautiful on the pearly gates.