I was touched last week by a friend’s story about a trip to the store. She went just to keep her husband company. She doesn’t often garden, but that day she decided spontaneously to purchase flowers for the window boxes on the front of her house.
She says, “We planted them the first two years we lived here, but somehow life seemed to make the purchase of flowers a luxury and so the window boxes sat empty the last two years.”
I know that my friend’s husband has been ailing; you can read between the lines of her updates and know that her energy goes to caring for him and working in retail and trying to get through some difficult days. She continued her flower box story: “Someone once said that the planting of flowers was a statement of hope for the future and I believe that was my honest motivation. Maybe they will also be a sign to those who drive by that we believe in our future–one way or another.”
So the empty flower boxes are empty no longer. The bright blooms will no doubt cheer my friend’s heart. And yes, they are a sign to all who see. Hope lives here. It pops up in rich colors. Extravagant, generous, varied.
Hope lives in the flowers; hope can live in our hearts, too.