For Mother's Day this year, I told Nate I'd much rather have flowers for the containers on our balcony than a short-lived fresh cut bouquet. My container garden is a splurge, a treat I haven't indulged in every year, sometimes allowing the green tubs of dirt to lie ugly and barren for the summer. I think often of starving children in the world, then think of the perfume poured on Jesus' feet, of the rich transrational joy of living in this world of pain and hunger and beauty and sunlight reflecting off spring rain.
My flowers tend to be short-lived, suffering under the hands of a the brownest thumb in Pennsylvania. Sitting with them on our balcony, keeping them company during their fleeting lives makes me remember to cherish the moments that slip away all too quickly.
Love, Neb
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