Bring My Flowers Now

 For several years now Honey and I’ve had a Sunday morning tradition. Sundays are one of the only days we get to “slow roll” our start to the day, so we sit and sip coffee and put on a Spotify playlist I named “Sunday Morning Coming Down”.

The title is derived from the #1 hit as performed by Johnny Cash and written by Kris Kristofferson — who said this was the song that allowed him to quit working for a living. The song was performed live on The Johnny Cash Show at the Ryman Auditorium in 1970, with background footage playing that was filmed in downtown Shelbyville, TN — 45 miles from where I was born, raised, and presently live. Johnny — who always did, and still does, remind me of my Grandaddy Richard, who died 23 years ago yesterday — introduced this song with the following monologue.

“You know, not everyone who has been on 'the bum' wanted it that way. The Great Depression of the 30s set the feet of thousands of people—farmers, city workers—it set 'em to ridin' the rails. My Daddy was one of those who hopped a freight train a couple of times to go and look for work. He wasn't a bum. He was a hobo but he wasn't a bum. I suppose we've all....all of us 'been at one time or another 'drifter at heart', and today like yesterday there's many that are on that road headin' out. Not searchin' maybe for work, as much as for self-fulfillment, or understanding of their life...trying to find a *meaning* for their life. And they're not hoppin' freights much anymore. Instead they're thumbin' cars and diesel trucks along the highways from Maine to Mexico. And many who have drifted...including myself...have found themselves no closer to peace of mind than a dingy backroom, on some lonely Sunday morning, with it comin' down all around you."

I gave the playlist this name because Sunday mornings are the most humbling and emotional days of the week for me. To borrow a line from the song “Real Small Town” by Adam Hood — which is on the playlist — “Every Sunday, I start the week off getting right, get direction for my life, at the downtown church of Christ.” For me, Sunday mornings are a mixture of holiness and humility, and I don’t think you can have one without the other. Any of the foolishness and pride that’s built up in my head over the week comes crashing down on Sunday mornings. 

The playlist is filled with songs you’d clearly identify as traditional worship songs (Nearer Still Nearer, Jesus Paid It All, etc), several Contemporary Christian songs (I Can Only Imagine, Look Up Child, etc) and quite a few that would make you scratch your head (Bob Dylan, Kris Kristofferson, Chance the Rapper, Lenny Kravitz). I learned a long time ago that a song doesn’t have to be labeled “Christian”, “worship”, or “praise” to be a hymn. If you were to listen to our playlist you might not understand why I consider a particular song a hymn, but just know, every one on the list carries some message that I want to be reminded of weekly, and for me, music slips through the cracks in my armor, evading the defense systems of my pride and prejudice, making direct impact on my heart, in ways that nothing else can. These songs call me from the bushes I’m hiding behind to face God as clearly as He did with Adam and Eve in the Garden when He said, “Where are you?”

This past Sunday we were listening to our playlist and the song “Bring My Flowers Now” by Tanya Tucker came on. Tanya had her first hit at age 13, and was nominated for a Grammy ten times, but it wasn’t until she was 61 that she finally won a Grammy for Best Country Song with “Bring My Flowers Now”. Last Sunday morning, knocking on 50’s door, I could relate to the lyrics of “Bring My Flowers Now” much more than “Delta Dawn.” In it she sings: 

Bring my flowers now, while I'm livin'

I won't need your love when I'm gone

Don't spend time, tears, or money on my old breathless body

If your heart is in them flowers, bring 'em on

The lyrics to this song called my attention back to a bit of an unusual tradition I once heard about that a family practiced on their birthdays. The tradition was that they gave a sort of eulogy to each family member on their birthday. A bit odd and slightly morbid perhaps, but also beautiful. Why say all the things we love and remember about a person at their funeral when they are gone? Wouldn’t those flowers make better gifts while they are living, and what better time to give that gift than their birthday? 

I’ve been thinking about this ever since Sunday, and because four of the women I can’t imagine life without (my granddaughter, my first daughter in love, my wife, and my mother), all have birthdays coming up in the month of December, I decided I wanted to bring their flowers while they are living. Though I don’t know exactly when just yet, another granddaughter will have her literal birth day in December and I plan to shower her with verbal flowers on that day too, as well as my dad in January, my second daughter in love in February, my grandson in March, and my two sons in June and September. I can’t guarantee that this will be an annual birthday tradition, but at least once I want to make sure I say to them the things I would say about them if they were gone. I’ll bring the flowers, and I hope you will stop and smell the roses.