Most days this spring, at least one of my children races into the house, clutching a warm squished fistful of blooms from the yard:
already brown, wilted dandelions
stubs of orange and surprisingly fragrant pansies
the first petal from a rose bush
balls of flowers the size of oranges
The first few (or several) years I was a mother, outdoor plants denuded of their blooms triggered chest-clenched frustration. Through gritted teeth I would explain again how mommy really likes to see the flowers on their plants.
The steady rain of God’s grace over time has begun to soften my brittle blind heart. Soaking, absorbing, and expanding within his grace has gradually opened my eyes to recognize graces all around, in every task.
Grace appears even in the usually-unpleasant, often-disgusting chore of diaper-changing. One evening I removed Little Boy’s pull-up, pouring flower petals all over the bathroom floor, acquired during a flower-snow-ball fight with the neighbors.
Suddenly seeing, I find not messes and clumsily-plucked stems, but little hearts so overflowing with love that they must do something, anything, to show it. I can delight in their joy-filled abandon as they hurl flower balls without need of mittens, boots, and snow pants, without the sting of ice to the face. I can forget about the floral destruction and the shorn shrub.
I am reminded that those little impressionable hearts need nurture and training to continue their uninhibited love-giving, their joyful embrace of life. And I need to join them in that joyful embrace of life too.
My example and my accepting of these wilted flower-graces is some of the best training, both for them and for me.
This post linked up to Chatting at the Sky’s Tuesdays Unwrapped. You can find more stories of everyday grace there.