The rising wind caught one of my flower boxes and dumped my beautiful begonias on their heads under the weight of the box and the dirt. I came home from my Mama’s house and found the chaos. I looked at the strewn dirt and broken stems and battered flower petals. I thought about the broken things in our lives that we have pretty much given our hearts to, and how sometimes it looks like there is nothing worth salvaging. I wanted to cry.
And then I remembered another flower box earlier this summer that pretty much the same thing happen to it. It wasn’t as big as this one, and maybe not as heavy. But I put the flowers back in as best I could and gave it some careful watching. And trusted my Heavenly Father. It grew back as pretty as ever. I probably couldn’t tell you if I had to which one had suffered the trauma.
So I picked up these plants as carefully as possible, and laid them up on the table. I reassembled the planter and carefully replanted the flowers and dirt and added some fresh dirt. There is a storm moving in tonight, and after that is over, I will snip and reshape and see what happens. The plants are healthy, just injured. Maybe Autumn will bear new flowers.
“. . . If He carried the weight of the world upon His shoulders, I know my brother that He will carry you.
If He carried the weight of the world upon His shoulders, I know, my sister, that He will carry you . . .”
(By the way — a new song is playing)