On the windowsill in my bedroom sits a blue decorative container. Written across the front is the word "bloom" next to a small stenciling of a bird. About a month ago, at the first sign of spring, I filled the container with three primrose flowers. They were an inexpensive and small foliage that I doubted would last past the end of the month. My track record with plants includes a lot of wilting, few buds and inevitable death. But I love flowers so I buy them cheap and treat them like disposable cutlery. If I can get a few weeks of enjoyment out of their green and flowery beauty I'm pleased.
Don't get me wrong, I always try my best to keep the greenery alive with sporadic watering and ample sun exposure. I'm not one to give up on my vegetation. I've been known to water Gerber Daisys that have shriveled up to nothing more than a few twigs in soil.
Where there's life, there's hope, right?
Given my less-than stellar track record with indoor flora you can imagine my surprise when the primrose flowers didn't die by the end of the month. Granted, they weren't flowering as bountifully as when I first welcomed them to my bedroom windowsill, but they were far from dead. They still had buds and vibrant green leaves.
The survival of my primrose bolstered my confidence in their future. I started watering with more consistency and rotating the container, ensuring that all sides of my flowers received adequate sun exposure. Not only did I believe my flowers could survive, I believed they would.
This morning, with a glass of water in hand I looked upon my primrose and became disheartened. Not a single flower to be found. Buds? Yes. Greenery? Yes. But no flowers. I've been so diligent with my watering and rotating. Where did I go wrong?
As I poked around at my primrose I was overcome with a flood of remembrances from the past six years. For six years I've done everything in my power to keep my health alive. I've watered. I've pumped myself with vitamins. I've tried all things medical, natural and alternative in an effort to regain the vitality that was stripped from me so suddenly at the tender age of twenty. Still, despite my best efforts, I've still withered and suffered and struggled to hang on.
But, guess what, I'm still here. There is still life in this little body and these tired bones. And if there is still life, there is still hope.
God isn't done yet. He has given me buds as a good deposit of the bounty to come. There are flowers in my future. Sure, my pot isn't abloom oat this very moment but the primrose isn't dead yet either. There is still life in that soil just like there is fight left in my bones. God is planting a flower bed. He is bringing up buds. I can see a bouquet of primrose up ahead, can't you?
You may look at the flowers on my windowsill and think they are nearly dead. But when I look at them I see life, health and vitality springing up. I'm going to keep watering, keep rotating and keep hoping because those flowers are just about to bloom.