Jan Hagels. Flowers. Parsnips. Hope.

Something inside said, “Take him the Jan Hagels.”

These are Dutch cookies–a cinnamon flavored shortbread my mom always made growing up.

Heidi dumped in the flour and ate half the chopped walnuts before we could sprinkle them on top. Dutch supervised and asked (repeatedly) when they’d be done.  We baked, cut, cooled, and plated the beautiful nut-covered squares. Then we headed over, up the statue-lined driveway.  There were even more than I remembered. Stone frogs and bears, several deer (including Bambi), butterflies and squirrels, a tall madonna holding the baby Jesus.

I rang the doorbell.

We waited, and waited. No answer. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again, louder. No answer. Really? Was he not even going to open his door for us? The kids were getting impatient, “Let’s just leave the cookies on the step.” I leaned in and could hear the TV on. I could just leave them …

I glanced down at the mail-box mounted by the front door. “The Gerksons.”  I reached over and touched the etched name. The metal was so cold.  I looked at the statues, all lined up like graves.

One more try: Pound, pound, pound. 

Then, a sound. A shuffling, scratching sound. A click at the door. Ever so slowly, it opened.

I don’t know what I expected, but he wasn’t it. Grumpy Guy was bent over a walker: frail, weak. Gray, several-day stubble covered his cheeks; his hands shook slightly as he gripped his walker for support. For just a moment I hated myself: Why didn’t I come over here months ago??? The inside of the house was dark behind him and he squinted, holding his hand across his forehead, as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine streaming in.

“Hello there. We live next door … We, um, made you some cookies.” For a second he just took it in.

Then he smiled.

“Yes.  I know Jeff. He’s come over here a few times.”

“Yes, well I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to come over.” 

He returned to Jeff. “I always see your husband outside, playing with the kids. Those other people who lived there never had any G** d*** time for their kids. Never any time. Always workin’, always busy. Their kids died, you know that?”

I nodded.  I had heard the unthinkably tragic story.

“Well they never spent time with ’em. Shoulda been put in G** d** jail, that’s what I think.”

I shifted a little and glanced back at the kids. They were picking dandelions, oblivious. I looked back at him and he was watching the kids too. A shadow of sadness covered his face.

“I’m so sorry. I hope we can be good neighbors for you. Do you need anything?”

“Nah. I’m ok. I see you have a good garden going.”

“Yes! I’m trying. I don’t know much, but we have a few things growing. Do you garden?”

He looked out at the yard, but farther away, like he was seeing what it all used to be. 

“I had flowers. So many flowers. Fifty rose bushes. I had fuchsias all along here, and an arbor out back with clematis climbing all over it.” He paused, still lost in thought, and smiled to himself. “I had a garden too. Big garden. Tomatos and cucumbers, and parsnips. I love parsnips, I’d leave ’em out there all winter, you know, that’s what you do. And they’d get so big. I love parsnips. Can’t buy ’em really. They’re expensive.”

I made a mental note.

“Yeah, not many flowers here anymore…” his voice trailed off, looking out over his land, looking for flowers. 

“Can I plant some?”

His eyes snapped back to me. “What?!”

“Can I plant some flowers? I was noticing you have that empty flower bed right by the fence. I could reach it without even coming through your gate. The kids and I were going to plant sunflowers … could we plant some seeds there, for you?”

“Sunflowers …” He went back to his faraway world, then told a story of the sunflowers he planted once upon a time. He looked down at Dutch, “They were 104 inches tall!” Dutch’s eyes were wide.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I smiled and patted his shoulder. “Well, I’m sorry you had such a hard time with your old neighbors. We’ll try …”

He interrupted me and looked me straight in the eye: “We’ll get along great.”

“Yes sir, I believe we will. Would you come over for dinner sometime?”

He started to fuss, “Ah, I can’t get around that well…”

“We’ll bring it over here!”

“No, no. Yeah … I’ll come over.”

Just as we were saying goodbye, he looked out and saw an enormous purple dahlia opening right beside the porch.

“Well, I’ll be. A flower.” He inched his walker slowly over the threshold, and shuffled, carefully, outside. The screen door and the darkness closed behind him.

We stood, in the sun, in silence, looking at the flower, both breathing in beauty, life, hope.

We said goodbye and he went back in the house. We piled in the car, ready to tackle our long list of errands. Grabbing my grocery list, I jotted down one last item:

Parsnips.

~

The next morning I looked out the window:

His blinds were pulled open wide. 

And that afternoon, in the bright sunshine, to my everlasting amazement, he was outside, looking at his yard, pointing and cursing and hollering at two workers as they spread barkdust around. I was so overjoyed I didn’t care a bit when the f-bomb floated our way.  He even shuffled down the long length of sidewalk and greeted us by name.

“Just sprucin’ the place up a bit,” he said.

Indeed. God is doing just that. 

{Praying you find–and share–beauty in whatever everyday situations you find yourself in today. Thanks so much for reading.}