I kill pretty much everything that grows. Except weeds. Those little buggers grow like-well, weeds.
Now as spring arrives and the bulbs (that I didn’t plant) come up and bloom, I have some of God’s beauty to look at as I watch my children play outside. You can imagine my disappointment when G notices the pretty yellow flowers and decides to pluck them. Every. Last. One.
But then, without hesitation, he waddles over to me and sticks out his dirty little hands full of pretty yellow flowers. “Here mama,” he says with a grin and a hug. His brothers have taught him to pick flowers just for his mama.
So as I scoop my melted heart up out of the dirt and put my newly picked flowers in water, I feel the Lord gently remind me to cherish this moment. I am suddenly transported to a time where he no longer picks flowers just for me, but for another special girl in his life.
My future holds plenty of non-picked flowers, maybe even some that I will grow! But I know I will long for the days that I only see stems in the garden.