Tulips
by
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The sun was warm that early May morning and the sky seemed a deeper shade of blue than anyone could remember. The few fluffy white clouds dotting the sky appeared to be chasing after the sun, but never quite managed to catch up. It was Saturday, the third and final day of Tulip Festival in Pella, Iowa. There would be a parade, street washers, crafts for sale and plenty of good food. But most importantly there would be tulips, thousands of them. It was small-town America at its best and John Larson intended to be a part of it. Before making the forty-mile trip, John needed to wash his car. He had the idea that it actually ran better when it was clean. Certainly it looked better and although he couldn't clearly explain why, he always felt good about himself for having done it. The truth be known, John rather enjoyed the activity since it was one of the few domestic-like activities this forty-five year old, former athlete did well. John Larson was a study in contrast. He was youthful in actions as well as appearance. He had been an athlete all his life, and his 180 pounds were still well distributed over his six-foot frame. John tanned easily and his thick brown hair and deep blue eyes had turned the head of many a woman. He was witty, and had a mind that worked quickly. It seemed John had an answer to questions before he heard them. Still, he was almost shy at times and although women were still attracted to him, he rarely took advantage of the opportunities that came his way. Forty-five years of living labeled him middle-aged by almost any method of calculation. As his years would suggest, he was mature in many ways, but to belie those years, he was almost childlike in others. John was conservative in his political views and his faith. He always voted a straight party line and held steadfastly to fundamental Christian beliefs. John was well known as a Bible student and rarely missed a church service. On the other hand, he was a skillful card player and prepared to back his talents with the fair amount of money he routinely carried in his wallet. John was not a hypocrite. He didn't hide his faith under a bushel nor did he attempt to conceal the less lofty activities he enjoyed. With John, what you saw was what you got. John loved his cars and insisted they be clean whenever possible. The final step in the cleaning process was almost always a good vacuuming of the interior. How some people could enjoy driving a car with gum wrappers on the floor, lint on the seats and dust on the dash was more than John could understand. When he was satisfied with the condition of his car, and before taking a shower, John laid out a pair of khaki walking shorts, a navy blue golf shirt with red trim and his most comfortable sneakers. Oh yes, and one more thing, a good pair of undershorts. When he was younger, his mother often warned him not to embarrass her by being killed in a car wreck while wearing an old pair. Even though she was gone now, John never forgot her words and at the lightest sign of wear, tossed old shorts into the rag bag to be used later for applying wax to his cars. John sat back on his bed and took a deep breath. For some reason he didn't fully understand, he usually went at car washing as if there were a time limit for finishing. While resting, he checked his wallet to make sure he had enough money for the day. As a matter of habit, John tried to have all bills facing in the same direction and certainly none should be upside down. A quick count and final arrangement of each bill revealed he had three hundred and forty seven dollars. It seemed like enough. Probably because he had a rather poor beginning in life and seldom had any money in his pockets, John liked to have a sufficient amount of what he called walking around money. He rarely bought anything, but if he wanted to he could and he enjoyed the feeling that gave him. The shower and shampoo were thorough, but quick, as normal. When lounging around the house, by his own assessment, John wasn't the neatest person on the block. However, when he decided to clean up, the process was always complete. Still, like car washing, his showers didn't take long and although he never timed himself, John was certain he held some sort of record. While it wasn't broken that day, he made quick work of it. Drying off required more time since John never used a hair dryer. Somehow, he thought of those in the same category as curling irons and never warmed up to the idea of using one. After toweling down, John combed his hair about the way he wanted it and allowed a few minutes for natural drying. The total time consumed was actually not that much longer than for more forward thinking men since he generally busied himself with other things while waiting. If you knew him, you would wonder what John was thinking about going to a Tulip Festival. It just wasn't like him to do that sort of thing. In fact, you would more likely find him on the golf course or playing cards somewhere. And yet, he felt drawn to this wholesome and stress-free event on that particular day and John made it a point never to ignore such feelings. In fact, he took comfort in them. John's golf game had already reached an early season low and playing cards was even worse. His attitude was in the dumpster. John was stuck on what regular card players referred to as permanent tilt. If it wasn't for his bad luck, you could honestly say John wasn't having any luck at all. Bad beats were one thing, but to lose on a straight flush and four kings in the same day, was beyond bad luck. It was a message and he was beginning to get it. John didn’t hold very high expectations as he dressed and prepared for the trip from Grinnell to Pella, but all that was about to change. On that early spring day, he would meet someone who would change his life forever. John Larson was on a path that would intertwine his life with Jennifer Thompson, an attractive, thirty year old woman who would leave for Pella that morning from the same small college town where John lived. Jennifer Thompson was steady and strong in her resolve. Sill, it was difficult to get a read on her. While she grew up on a farm, and was accustomed to hard work, she could certainly live without it. Some might not describe her as being beautiful, but there was an almost mystical allure about her. Maybe it was her eyes, unquestionably the most beautiful John had ever seen. He had the feeling there were hidden secretes concealed somewhere deep behind them. Jennifer was the sort of person to whom you felt drawn. Much like the nectar in flowers attracts bees and humming birds. Her long brown hair fell halfway down her back and although a thirty-year-old mother of two children, Jennifer still had the well proportioned, girlish figure she had in high school. She was clean, neat as a pin and her clothes were always put together just right. Jennifer was steadfastly careful not to compromised her Christian principles and always drew a clear line between right and wrong. She was active in church and her children’s school functions. Jennifer was simply the sort of woman every man hoped to find, a prize worth the winning. At the same time John was washing his car, Jennifer Thompson’s preparation for the trip to Pella was a little more hectic. First, there was the discussion with Sam, her husband, to determine if he was up to going along. It seemed to Jennifer, the state of his health depended on the schedule for the day. He was more likely to feel well if the plans were his or at least suited him. Then there was five-year-old Sally and eight-year-old J
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About the Book
Tulips
Jennifer Thompson was thirty, married, and the mother of two children. John Larson was forty-five and single since his wife left three years earlier. They both decided to attend the final day of the Tulip Festival in the spring of 1986 and that's where their friendship was formed.
The Festival is a three day event held in Pella, Iowa, a small town originally settled by Dutch immigrants. During Festival Days, there are crafts for sale, plenty of good food, and two parades each day featuring a Tulip queen, floats, bands, and street washers dressed in traditional Dutch costumes with wooden shoes. Of course there are also tulips, thousands of them in nearly every color you could imagine.
John and Jennifer met there, seemingly by accident, and it took awhile for John to figure out who she was. I say they met "seemingly" by accident because John held to the position that nothing happens by mere chance. His theory was: "What's meant to be, will be." While Jennifer didn't immediately share his view, that would come later.
Both John and Jennifer had strongly held principles, which were deeply rooted in the concrete of their faith, but fate had something unexpected in store. That day they spent together would become a bench-mark by which they would both measure all subsequent time.
After meeting, they walked and talked together in what would become their sacred place. A walled-in area under the locally famous clock tower archways. When they passed under the triple arches, it was as if they had stepped onto the pages of a fairy-tale book. Something almost magical happened during the short time they were there together, something that would permanently change both of them.
After going their separate ways for awhile, they met again by "chance" in a small park with a pond and windmill. There, in that Sunken Garden, they shared the meal Jennifer had packed earlier that morning. As they sat together on her blanket they met Billy Martin, a small boy whose life would also forever be changed that day. It's he who tells their story.
Circumstances caused John and Jennifer to watch the parade together and drive toward their homes in a convey of two cars. By what John would have deemed to be another pre-determined event, car trouble extended their day together in a small churchyard off the main road. The short time they spent together there formed a bond between them that would become stronger than chains-of-steel or even "bands-of-gold."
Over the next four years, there were ups and downs in their separate lives, and slopes and grades in their relationship as well. John was an avid cyclist and developed a core belief in his theory of "slopes and grades" while riding. John reasoned he could coast during the slopes of life, when all was well, but the grades required considerable effort.
The story revolves around church activities, illness and healing, good fortune and bad. There are as many twists and turns in their lives as John encountered while riding his bike over the Iowa roads. John comes into a large amount of money and discovers it can buy nearly all of the things he had dreamed of, but it couldn't buy what he wanted most.
Tulips is a story of love, the joy, agony, and pure wonder of it. Its words are woven from the threads of life's struggles. The story is modern in that it tells of the common ability to love more than one person at the same time. It's not a story of an affair, but rather of a love tried by fire and more pure than gold. John and Jennifer find the courage to exercise restraint despite their human desire to give in to the tugging of worldly pleasures. They had both signed-on to a higher calling few could understand, but all can admire.
Tulips doesn't focus on the sexual aspect of love, but rather on that higher plane of the experience. It deals with the sort of love, which comes but once in a lifetime. The story is etched on the surface of the higher road of life, the one less traveled.
John and Jennifer's story will tug at the reader's heart strings and pierce into its very core like a flaming arrow. From their first chance meeting to the final page, it will carve a mark that can never be erased. Tulips is a love story with a message. It's packaged in the wrappings of "Sowing and Reaping," rather than "Ends and Means."
The reader will come to expect the unexpected and marvel at the strength required to lead such lives. Only the thin-pane of principle separated John and Jennifer from what they wanted most. In the end, Jennifer would come to understand what John had known all along, "What was meant to be, would be." Nothing could alter the reality of that truth.
Tulips is an easy read with hidden depth. The characters are unusually strong in principle and resolve, yet quite capable of experiencing all of the normal emotions of ordinary people. There are periods of humor and sorrow, good times and bad. It tells of two people who find the grace to deal with an age-old struggle separating right and wrong.
Tulips will leave an indelible impression on the reader and teach lessons taken directly from the master's instruction manual. No one who reaches a fork in the road of life can take both paths. All must choose one over another. Tulips is a story of such a choice and of the uncommon strength required to make it.
About the Author
I was born, some number of years ago, in a small town in southern Iowa. I know the people, the way they think and how they feel. Their emotions run deep–not superficial, but genuine and sincere. Smalltown people are plain spoken. They fall in love differently too–not easily, and not "in" love one day and "out" of it the next. When they find true love, it’s generally for keeps. Although I’ve lived in several states including Wisconsin, California and Kentucky, I have always found my way back to Iowa. It’s my home, and the garden spot of my roots. As long as I can recall, I’ve been a teller of stories. I wrote Tulips to send a message of hope to those who feel no hope and to declare that life has something special in store for each of us. Perseverance and an unshakable belief that what is meant to be will be are the keys that unlock the doors of life. Tulips is a story of the sort of people I’ve met and known. I’ve felt their joy and shared their pain. I’ve walked in their shoes and callused my feet on the pathways. I am richer for the experience. When my life’s journey is complete, I will be able to say without reservation that I’ve shaken the tree of life, eaten freely from the fruit that fell, and I am fully satisfied.