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As I planted my freshly purchased annuals I wondered which flower was giving off such a sweet aroma.

I sniffed each one just before I dropped them into their new mud homes, but I never found that lovely spring messenger.

My work finally done, my grass-stained knees creaking, I gathered my shovels and wandered over to a bed I had not tended. I wanted to at least peak at it, my project for another day.

Tucked in among the Hostas, that plant that can overpower a garden, were some tenacious Lillies of the Valley.

Sweetly peeking out from among the Hostas, they stood unassuming and small, but sent out a fragrance as a message of their presence.

I want to have a fragrance not my own that sends out a message of hope and peace, even if I am nestled in among giants who have none.

Giants who can overwhelm. Like the lilies I want to be unassuming and make no excuse except that the hope is not my doing, and that anyone can have that same hope.

I pushed the Hosta leaves aside, cupped the little flowers in my hands and breathed in deeply, in no rush to leave them.

Yes. I want to be like them: with a fragrance of hope that draws people closer and makes them want to tarry.