~ From D. E. Stevenson, Spring Magic, 1941
“But it can’t be the end,” he declared, looking up at her with big solemn eyes. “You haven’t said that she lived happily ever after.”
“I know, but you see she was just an ordinary person; she wasn’t a princess any more. It’s only fairy princesses who live happily ever after – not real people like you and me – and that’s why the story isn’t finished,” added Frances, clutching at this heaven-born inspiration, “because real stories about real people go on and on.”
“Until the people are dead and buried, I suppose,” agreed Winkie, nodding.
“They don’t finish even then,” said Frances in a thoughtful tone. “Because things we do and say live on long after we are dead…but you aren’t old enough to understand that yet.”
“Couldn’t I if you explained?” enquired Winkie, anxiously.
Frances tried to explain it simply. She said, “You and I are friends and we’re teaching each other a lot of things that neither of us will ever forget, so when I get very old and die there will still be little bits of me alive in you.”
Winkie was silent for a moment and then he said, “That’s an awfully funny idea, isn’t it? I suppose there are bits of me in everyone I know…”
~ From Me… early 2014 🙂
I’ve been noticing it ever since the rosy amaryllis someone gave me this Christmas burst into fluted bloom beside my front windows. Not exactly a perfume, but a fresh air-swept, clean sort of scent. As though the flower is breathing out a softness round me. Its full cloud of red glory wafts a celebratory feel too, each time I glance up from my book, see it waving like a spot of radiance in front of a living white snowfall beyond. Little bits of Christmas to last long after I tuck away lights and candles and ornaments. Like a zephyr that refreshes here…there…
Am I such a fragrance to anyone, Father?
Reading D.E. (as in the above passage) fills me with so many bits of…winsome, wistful…lyrical. A thought breezes a whisper over me. Of someday meeting her at Heaven’s Gate, sharing how I’ve loved uncovering bits and pieces of who she was on the pages of her stories… over forty years since she left them behind for us to savor.
I don’t have children or family to breathe words into. Are you taking any lasting bits of who I am and breathing them out, Lord?
D.E.’s thoughts make me pause to reflect. “You and I are friends and we’re teaching each other a lot of things that neither of us will ever forget, so when I get very old and die there will still be little bits of me alive in you,” she wrote…
But – am I? Sometimes I feel like the ‘dull’ of the party. The uninvited. The one not really missed.
“Perfumery is part art and part science,” I read somewhere. It takes the creativity of an artist and the expertise of a chemist to mingle scents in uniquely enticing ways. Like a painter, a perfumer mixes colors on a palette of 2,500 “hues.” Uses oils and chemicals, each with its own distinct scent, extracts about 400 natural substances from things such as twigs, trees, flowers, herbs and grasses. Creates the rest synthetically in a chemist’s laboratory.
Twigs and trees and flowers.
In my life… maybe the Painter and Perfumer is using… words and drawings and prayers.
Mixing with Heaven’s laboratory of Majesty.
In yours… so many other variations on a Rainbow.
In each of us… His signature scent, divinely sent.
Perfume doesn’t worry where it goes… He reminds. I gift it in you…and you… and you… your own distinguishing fragrance. Scent to evoke fond memories of people, places and things you have touched of Me. I make it waft and light in those I choose…mingling and lingering those bits of you, and of I, forever… in Eternity’s foretaste.
© Pam Depoyan
Thought for today:
In His Garden, You Are A Lovely Fragrance Unto the Lord
and To All You Touch
Read Part One Here: Happy New Year…On the Sacred Scent of Beloved