One More Yellow Flower


I don't know where to start. I can't disclose all the details. It would hurt, unnecessarily, some very precious people I love very dearly. I can say that I had just buried someone very close to me--the pain of loving them, missing them almost too much to bear. On the day of the death, I received more devastating news that almost took me to the grave also--pain on top of pain that was burying me along with my loved one.

How do I bear this pain, Oh God? Will I survive or will it take me down to the depths? I somehow get through the next couple of days of neighbors and friends dropping by, of funeral arrangements, of remembering favorite rememberings, songs, and scripture.


Black hearses snake through the bleak countryside. Black thoughts snake through the tunnels of my mind going down to the pit of my gut.

Coffer is lowered--I feel my life's blood lowered with it--

Shortly after we arrive back at family home for meal and remembrances, I quietly, softly get in my car heading who knows where.

It seems to have a mind of its own as it drives down the now dusky country lane where generations lie quiet.


I have no pride, I have no nothing. I rip every flower from the freshly spaded dirt making it mud with the tears of a lifetime as I lie spread-eagle atop it. I am thoroughly done in--I lament as David did. I finally lie silent as those beneath me.


I love yellow roses. My bridesmaids, years before, had carried one long-stemmed yellow rose. I look to the side of me and see one--I crawl through the earth to retrieve it, to hold on to it, to hold on to something, to hold on to anything, to survive.

"Let go. Bury it." Faintly somewhere in the distance of my spirit I hear, "Bury it." A little louder--"Let go, bury it." Immediately, I knew what I had to do, I knew that I wouldn't survive unless I forgave.

But I also knew that Satan would come in the future in the form of vain imaginings and thoughts that would take me down to the depths again and again unless I had a tangible moment of relinquishment.

A moment I could always go back to in my mind--something I could always remind him of that I did as an act of love and forgiveness.

I claw a foot beneath the surface. It is easy, the dirt is loose and fresh--Close to the box containing remnants of the earthly shell, I bury the yellow rose and the devastation.

I knew the enemy would try to use these feelings to defeat me from then until the day I drew my last breath but I also knew I could say each time, "I will NOT go there. I will take these thoughts captive to the Lordship of Jesus Christ. You will not have my mind nor my life."

I lived in another state at the time of the death. On the trip home--a couple of days later--I'm in the car with my husband--the old thoughts are trying to come back mixed with the indescribable pain of burying one so close. I think I am going to go crazy if I can't scream--We stop for gas at a service station we've frequented on trips home for the past twenty-five years.

I know I can let loose all this pain in the "familiar to me" ladies' room. I run in. Normally empty, it is now full of people. I turn and run out of the store and around to the back of the building. I bury my face in my hands--shoulders, chest, body are wracked by soul searing sobs--I open my left eye and through cracked fingers see a tiny, yellow wildflower almost crushed underfoot--Sobbing abruptly stops. My spiritual mind thinks, "A yellow flower just for me to validate the burying of the yellow rose--how long ago did God start planning for this little flower to be growing at this exact spot at this exact time in history just to encourage me, to offer me hope, love and victory?"

My carnal mind--"This was not planned for you. Just a fluke--if you look around this whole grassy area is probably just covered with hundreds of these little yellow flowers."

I am afraid to open my eyes to look further--but I manage--one, lone, delicate yellow flower almost crushed right beside my left foot."

It speaks volumes, tomes, volumes, ages upon ages of His love for me--At creation He knew this flower was going to be here, right here, right now.


Update:  When I originally published this, I received several emails and comments expressing their deep concern for me.

While I appreciate your concern, this happened years ago and my heart has healed.  I write this only as a testament to the loving concern of Our Father for each of us and what He had planned in our lives before the foundation of the world.  To God be the glory, great things he has done.

© all photographs and text property of Dianne Hogue unless otherwise noted

from a previously published page

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