1 Corinthians 13:7
Love… always hopes, always perseveres.
It was the end of October, and I was about to give up on the Zinnias in the planter that my daughter had given me the previous Mother’s Day. She’d carefully selected a pretty window box, just the right size, and had planted seeds in a bed of good soil.
I kept it watered, moved it around until I discovered its favorite window – the one in the upstairs guest bathroom – and cared for it as best I could. Not being blessed with a green thumb, I was delighted when early on tender young green shoots came up. I enjoyed watching them grow into curving, leafy vines that grew upward leaning against windows, and then curved down, winding along the windowsill. I couldn’t wait to see the first flower. But five months had passed and it was autumn; some of the leaves were brown and dead, some of the vines were shriveled and needed to be cut away and no sign of anything that even vaguely resembled a bud or blossom. I had maintained the plant – water, light and fertilizer, and I wanted so much to see it bloom and thrive. Yet I couldn’t see continuing to hope over a half-dead plant.
I got up one Saturday morning determined to throw it away and admit defeat. As I parted the window’s curtain, I gasped. There was a small, pink flower exactly on the top of the vine. A real, live, standing-tall flower! Hope immediately sprang up in my heart again and I couldn’t wait to trim off the dead parts and nurture the delicate flower and the remaining green vines. The plant wasn’t half-dead and waiting to die, it was half-alive – it just needed enough time and a hopeful heart.