There is something holy about being in the garden just after sunrise tending to and cutting flowers before most of the world awakes as the sun is just barely rising. Hands in the dirt or clippers in hand to bring their beauty indoors.
A reminder of God’s presence still here even in the midst of a world that doesn’t always acknowledge His existence. A reminder of God’s grace. A reminder of His mercy.
I planted Zenias this past summer and have become obsessed with growing my own flowers now. There is something calming about digging in the dirt, planting the flowers, and then being able to walk out and cut flowers out of my yard to bring inside to enjoy throughout the week. In a couple of months I’m going to try my hand at starting seeds.
Flowers sing. Did you know that? You may not be able to hear them, but I think God does. He created them after all. All living things have a frequency so whether we hear them or not, I believe flowers sing. They bloom with no fear or worry. Content with the present moment.
Flowers are evidence of heaven I think. Flowers are God’s way of giving us a glimpse into the heavenly realm. Sunflowers opening up toward the sky. A bright pink daisy opening up. You can’t not smile or take a deep breath. Let’s not forget their scent. Heaven will smell like gardenias to me of that I’m sure.
There is a spiritual practice in growing flowers. A spiritual practice, a liminal space, at the edge of heaven.
