To say I am a disaster when it comes to growing plants and flowers is an understatement. I’ve attempted a garden a few times in my married life and learned the hard way, gardening was w-a-y out of my skill set.
When I went back to work full time a few years ago I even stopped trying to plant flowers in the summer. Why bother? There’s a reason I have no plants in my house. I can’t keep them alive. Why should I try to keep anything alive outside either?
But this past spring was going to be different. Since we were hosting our daughter’s high school graduation party, I was going to have pretty flowers! My husband purchased two big pots for our front porch and I pretended I knew what I was doing, purchasing beautiful flowers of varying shades of red, purple, and pink.
I wasn’t going to let these guys die! I watered them faithfully. Yet, they soon took a nosedive and looked terrible. In fact, one pot was practically full of dead brown flowers. (This was right before the big party, of course.) I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong.
My husband went out for an inspection and returned. “Honey, you’ve watered them too much.”
Oh. Good. Grief. First I can’t keep anything alive because I forget to water it, and now I kill them because I actually remember to water them every day but it’s too much? Who can win at this growing flowers game anyway?
My husband chuckled, went out, and turned those two big pots on their side to drain the excess water. He delivered the news. He was fairly certain one pot would make it, but he wasn’t sure about the other one.
I knew I shouldn’t have wasted the money or the time on those flowers and was mad at myself for having even tried.
And then, an amazing thing happened. One day I looked out and in the dead pot there was one beautiful red flower surrounded by the brown dead flowers. I cheered for it and congratulated it for hanging tough in the midst of strife. And by the weekend, a few more bright flowers were showing signs of recovery. I was stunned.
Now, all this time later, Dear Reader, I have two beautiful large pots of flowers with their many vibrant hues of red, purple, and pink. In fact, if you didn’t know which pot of flowers was which, I’m not sure you’d be able to tell which pot had been through a heck of an ordeal.
I’m counting on that.
You see, that pot of flowers that had that near death experience: that’s me. Since my daughter’s paralysis there have been many days where I’ve felt brown and dry and brittle. But just like the Master Maker works life into His dead flowers, He works life into our dead souls. Painful? Of course. Not what I’d choose? You guessed it. Will those flowers ever be what they were? Nope! And neither will I. But there’s still beauty. They are still giving glory to their Maker with their vibrant colors. And if God can do that with the flowers, I know He can do the same with all of us too.
And just one more thing: it didn’t look like those flowers had any hope. I know a paralyzed young lady who wasn’t given hope of ever walking normally again. Then I look at the beautiful flowers on my porch and I just smile. You see, God will get the final word. I just don’t think He’s done yet; with my flowers or my daughter’s paralysis!
Hope. It’s like a beautiful, beautiful flower.
Until next Wednesday. Lord willing.