The Flowers That Never Reached the Kitchen Table

In 1987, Margaret Ellison of Tupelo, Mississippi, kept a pristine house. Every Sunday she arranged fresh-cut hydrangeas on the foyer table, polished the silver until it gleamed, and set out linen napkins for the church ladies' luncheon. She tithed exactly ten percent, never missed a Wednesday prayer meeting, and could recite the order of worship from memory.

But her husband, Earl, ate dinner alone most nights. Her daughter, Connie, learned to stop asking for help with homework. The hydrangeas in the foyer were always perfect. The kitchen table sat bare.

One October afternoon, Connie came home with a scraped knee and found her mother re-hemming altar cloths for the sanctuary. "Mama, it's bleeding," she said. Margaret glanced up. "There are bandages in the cabinet, honey. I need to finish these for Reverend Dawson by five."

Connie bandaged her own knee. She was nine.

Years later, when a counselor asked Connie about her mother's faith, she said quietly, "Mama loved the church. I just wished she'd loved us that loud."

This is the ache in the voice of the Almighty when He speaks through Hosea: "I desire mercy, not sacrifice." God never asked Israel to choose between devotion and love — He wanted them to understand that love is the devotion. The hydrangeas belong on the kitchen table first.