Sitting atop the railings that surround the front porch are flower boxes, five to be exact. Deep and long, they are white and have held many different variety of flowers. Over the years there have been petunias, marigolds, daisies and even hot peppers, because they were colorful. Mostly annuals, for the perennials are planted beneath the windows, and along the fence leading to the world outside.
One of the things I do to relax after working all day in the city is to water all my flowers, a job I take very seriously. For it has taken quite a long time for me to develop any kind of green thumb, and I am very proud of what I have produced.
It has been hot here on the lake these passed few days, and I have to take extra care to make sure they get a good drink of water. As I pass the watering can over the drooping petals, I am reminded of how these blooms are both hardy and delicate at the same time.
It took a while to figure out the right mixture of food and sunlight, placing a particular type of flower in the right pot, with the correct amount of soil. Where one species may bloom beautifully, another might wither and struggle to survive. They bring to mind memories of my babies and how I had to learn to listen to their signals as well. Every flower is different, as is every child, even though they may have the same parents. In one situation where a child may flourish, it is not the same for another.
How hard it is to be a parent sometimes. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to water them and just sit back to watch them grow?
Even though life isn’t as easy as that, it is wonderful to have been the nurturer and watch your creation take hold, becoming the beautiful bloom of blossoms they are now. Flowers have no such mindset, and children have no yardstick of how great they can become.
It is up to us to water them and place them in the right light. May we always take that job seriously, in order to produce the handful of blooms we know they can be.
