The Power of Flowers


I love a lush garden, especially one that feels secluded, like a retreat from the world.  But I'm no good at growing one.  And to be honest, I didn't appreciate the peace and joy I get out of a colorful bouquet enough to put some real effort into trying to grow that garden retreat.  I guess I metaphorically threw up my hands and gave up without trying.

I regret that now.  I regret it because during my recovery, friends placed fresh flowers where I could see them, ministering to my soul.  The colors and fragrances were life themselves in my recovery room.  A room that was filled with more questions than assurances about the stability of my life.

When I was too weak to get out of bed, and it hurt too much to turn to look out the window, all I had to do was open my eyes to see those flowers.  I would watch them open a little bit each day.  Little encouragers on fragile stems.  Little cheerers of perseverance.  Little reminders that my friends loved me and were praying for me.It's a small thing, but those bouquets of colorful flowers (I never had two that were alike) reminded me of the verses about God's tender care.  He clothes the flowers.  He feeds the birds.  If they don't need to worry, neither do we.  No wonder people send flowers to loved ones in pain.  They represent so much hope and compassion!


So now, I want fresh flowers nearby all the time.  With the help and encouragement of my friend, Christine, I am giving it a go.  I will nurse my fledgling shrubs and flowers and look to the day when I can cut a few stems from my own yard to grace my table or my dresser with those little encouraging friends.  They are HOPE embodied in hews of green, orange, and rose.  Grow, little ones.  Grow.