The People with the Roses
John Blanchard stood p from the bench, straightened his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through the Grand Station. He looked for the girl whose hear he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking the book off the shelf he found himself intrigued , not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell.
With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wore her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shopped overseas for service in World War 2. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding.
Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting---7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel."
So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened.
A young woman was coming toward me, her figure was long and slim. Her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and her pale green suit she was wearing was like a springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way sailor?" she murmured.
Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Holly Maynell.
She was standing almost direction behind the girl. A woman well past forty, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-healed shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking away quickly. I felt as though i was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deeply was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out my book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son." she answered, "but the lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said is was some kind of test!"
It is not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom.
By: Max Lucado
I have been reading a book of unique love stories called, "A Match Made in Heaven." I love this story and wanted to share it with y'all. :)