March 6,2002
� 2001, Kathleen Gibson
Learning to see the image of God
Few stores can match the atmosphere of a flower shop. The music soothes, the flowers nourish the spirit, and the smells can waft you right into next summer, if you let them. I spent four years of my life enjoying part-time work in stores like that.
In the beginning I schlepped around huge pails of water, mucked in the dirt planting container gardens, tied bevies of bows, stripped rose thorns, drowned the green plants, and cleaned the glass fronted coolers incessantly. Eventually I graduated to making real arrangements�with nearly dead blossoms at first, until I was finally trusted with even the most exotic flowers in the cooler�bird of paradise, stephanotis, protea, stargazer lilies.�the names still tickle my tongue.
My first experience in floristry was in a brick-fronted shop on the main street of a Dicken-esque town in rural Ontario, population 1400. The owners also operated the shoe store next door. When the short bell sounded, I�d step up to wait on a customer wanting flowers. When the long bell sounded, I�d whisk off my apron, brush the dirt from my hands, tiptoe past the tulips and daisies and African violets, and sneak through the hole in the wall to sell shoes next door. I was a �one woman, two shop� girl. I loved it.
My second stint at floristry came ten years later at a mall shop operated by a mother-daughter pair. My bosses didn�t share my background or my faith. Much of their lives had been lived along the raw edges of deep human experience where pain played a huge role in the shaping of their personalities�and their concepts of God. The air in the backroom was often thick with smoke and technicolor language. I wondered how long I�d last.
I needn�t have worried. Though surrounded by the beauty of God�s more fragile creations, I soon learned that the most exquisite stuff in that little store wasn�t the posies. It was those two women. From them I learned as much about kindness, generosity, and grace as I�ve ever been taught in church. I toppled buckets, killed plants, put bleach in the rose water, tangled up the cash register�they put up with me and we carried on.
Hanging in my closet is a classically cut, soft green suit�a birthday present from those women, purchased at an expensive boutique in that very mall. Far finer than anything I�d buy for myself, the suit remains my favorite. They were nearly dancing in excitement as they presented it, along with a towering multi-layer torte�full of cream and chocolate. I can taste it still.
They taught me much about floristry, those two, but their most valuable lesson was one they never intended to teach. It was this: the image of God never goes into hiding, even in people who have little time for him.
I�m glad I stuck around long enough to see it.
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