Buying my own Flowers

I met her at the florist when I stopped in to pick up a bouquet. An elderly lady, dressed neatly, higher class, but with an ugly attitude.

"I had a note that someone tried to deliver flowers a few weeks ago when I was out."

The young florist politely asked, "And what was the name?"

The name was given, then, "Awe yes, here it is."

"Who sent them?" the crotchety lady asked.

Another name given, then, "That's my sister."

The next outburst surprised me.

"I told her to stop sending me flowers! If I want flowers, I'll buy my own. That way I'll get what I want."

While the customer stood waiting for the florist to finish some things, she turned and looked at me, just watching me in an unnerving way. But I found the situation so pathetically amusing, that I could not keep the merriment out of my eyes as I looked back at her. 

Her sister had paid $60 to thoughtfully send her flowers, and she was going to "buy her own flowers."

Uncomfortably, my thoughts turned inward. How many times do I reject the bouquet given because it's not what I would have chosen. When, out of love, there is a gift of time or things or even leadership, and I say, "No. That's not what I wanted." And leave the flowers to wilt and die. And in rejecting the gift, reject the giver.