Apart from a few crickets singing to their mates, the night was a quiet one. Oliver walked slowly, following the sidewalk out of habit. Dragging soundlessly behind him, attached firmly to his mind and heart, was a decision to be made. Being a man who enjoyed the etymology of words, this night he dined slowly on the word "trudge: to walk the measured, sometimes heavy steps of purpose; to move under harsh conditions". Truth be told, the night was not harsh.
But.
Having been blindsided by desire once before, it was the decision following him that may or may not be punitive.
Oliver stopped suddenly, blinking surprise. And then smiled. His feet, regardless of the decision, had found their way to the sidewalk outside Shane's house. All of the lights were out and for a moment he toyed with the idea of sitting on their porch swing. Prudence intervened, pointing out that the decision would be easily swayed by the perspective of the swing that had been the source of so many happy memories. Turning away, he resumed the trudging steps of purpose.
Many minutes later, the two lights always shining at the entrance to his church pierced the darkness to welcome him. As expected, the heavy oak door was unlocked and he let himself into the foyer. The foyer had one ceiling light and it showed him that the double doors to the sanctuary were open. After taking a deep breath, he stepped into the dim sanctuary. The light from the foyer was enough to show him the aisle and he made his way to the altar at the front. On a small stand next to the altar was a decorative navy blue pot with several inches of leafy green stem rising out of its potting soil. Oliver looked at the plant curiously, not having seen it before, then carefully found his knees.
Man sees dimly, angels do not. What seemed dim to Oliver was clear as day to the friends who waited for him. The sanctuary of the church was filled with light from half a dozen sources. The brightest came from Jordan Marley where he stood beside the altar. Four more angels stood along either wall, two to a side, and the sixth waited at the foyer, and had watched Oliver as he passed.
After Oliver had knelt, Jordan nodded to the sentry waiting at the foyer. "Bring the witness," he said.
The other angel nodded, then became a blur of white that disappeared straight up through the ceiling. Moments later, he returned carrying a very thick, very large scrapbook. Walking to Jordan, he handed him the volume solemnly, then returned to his post.
The scrapbook was eighteen inches wide, twenty-four inches long and almost five inches thick. On its cover was a name: Oliver O'Toole. Jordan smiled and laid one hand on the cover of the book. "And in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them," he quoted. The angel rested the scrapbook on the podium next to the altar and carefully opened it to a page almost exactly halfway through the volume.
The page was a deep one, and illustrated a man of faith, a man who would honor a covenant even when it hurt. Jordan nodded agreement to the Witness, remembering many long painful nights of grief and the sting of betrayal. He turned the page and smiled. This, on the other hand, was his favorite page, the page where Oliver had started to become human again. Among several handwritten letters was one very simple letter written in crayon, it was the heart of a child crying out to God and signed "Crackers". "Take care of your little letter writer," Jordan whispered to himself, remembering the day.
Turning to the next page, he skimmed the contents quickly and smiled once more. "This is the page where two stories become one." Jordan stepped back, waiting, knowing what Oliver was going to do next.
Oliver leaned forward, letting his forehead rest on the altar. "I know what it means to be impetuous," he prayed. "I made a decision once based on desire and not wisdom." Shaking his head slowly, he exhaled a very long, slow breath until the sting of tears went away. "I have no desire to repeat folly. I need your help, Lord" he said. "Your word says that "if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God who gives to all liberally." I need your wisdom to make the right decision."
Closing his eyes, Oliver let his weight settle onto knees and heels, then rummaged through the breast pocket of his jacket. The box was small, black, and stamped with bold letters that read Trice Jewelers. After taking a very deep breath he held it and then set the box on the altar. "This is my offering. I know what I want to do with this, but I would like a second opinion."
Seven angels, all familiar with God's peculiar sense of humor, looked up and smiled when they heard the laughter. Jordan Marley looked back down at the scrapbook, then carefully picked up the blossom that waited on the page where two stories become one. The flower had three green sepal leaves and three bright white petals. "I know you," he said to the blossom. "A seed, even a very delicate seed, can split a boulder apart if planted in just the right place at just the right time. You were planted into the stony heart of a man of faith while he waited next to a coffee cart. You are the beauty that cracked open the boulder that was Oliver's heart. You are trillium-grandiflorum-of the family Melanthiaceae-blonde, a perennial, native to North America. You are the trillium that opened a man's heart that he might love once more. Hello Shane." Then Jordan closed the scrapbook and leaned down to whisper in Oliver's ear.
Oliver O'Toole's eyes popped open when he heard a still small voice whisper, "A wise and understanding wife is a blessing from the Lord." Then he gasped loudly and fell backward onto his rear when he saw the navy blue pot next to the altar. The green stem had blossomed suddenly, with three green sepal leaves and three bright white petals. It was a trillium, member of the lily family. Where the crocus declared the end of winter, the trillium declared that spring had begun.