Flowers and prayer

Turns out flowers remind me to pray. This year since the peonies bloomed in June I've kept a vase of flowers in the middle of my kitchen island. They are anchored in the middle of my kitchen because they are beautiful yes but also to remind me to continue praying as I go about my day. A little talisman reminding me that even when it feels like I can do nothing and the whole world is going to shit - I am wrong. I can do something. I can pray.

These days there is basically nothing I understand about prayer except that it helps me see God and my soul tells me it isn't ever futile. I don't know how it works. I don't know why miracles sometimes happen or why sometimes in spite of prayer tragedies happen.

But if I can be a little honest here where I feel a little safe, I must admit I'm growing to love it that way. My made from stardust self is growing to embrace the mystery and the uncertainty and to keep on praying anyway. I'm starting to see prayer as both an incredibly obedient and an incredibly gutsy act of faith. Thinking about the idea that we pray because we are so loved by God that we are invited to join into a incomprehensible holy act can take my breath away. Thinking about people and God outpouring love together makes me weep.

So I replaced those flowers every week and I prayed. I prayed for Syria, I prayed for our earth, I prayed for all the hurting and hungry. I prayed for my friends, their parent, their children. I prayed for my parents, my children, my husband. I prayed for myself. I lamented and I rejoiced and I said prayers of thanksgiving that we are all abundantly loved by a God of new life. I prayed that I keep being both brave and trusting enough to participate in the mystery.

Part one on flowers here

Flowers

When we moved out to our acreage five summers ago I didn't really care about growing flowers. I spent the first three years trying to establish a veggie garden and planting more fruit trees and bushes. There was an extremely neglected flower bed outside our front door - the one we hardly ever use but I ignored it in my pursuits to grow things that could feed us. Last summer I finally had kids that were old enough to have energy left over to care that I felt embarrassed about that neglected spot in our yard so I planted a few rose bushes I found on sale.  Those few bushes I threw in to cover my shame ended up bringing me so much goodness I've inadvertently become a flower gardener.

Turns out it's quite therapeutic for me to head out every morning in my bare feet to see what is blooming, pull a few dead heads here and there while I sip coffee in pjs. Sometimes I get warmed through and through by the sun. Other days I put my old housecoat my grandmother gave me when I was a teenager and the rain drips down into my eyes. Of late I have to watch that I don't slip on the ice that has formed on our deck during the night as it melts beneath my still bare feet. Turns out all of it feels like heaven.

Turns out I love the colours and the growth, looking for new plants and trading with friends. Turns out growing flowers helps me feel present and alive. Turns out I hear God out there.