"... watering the flowers"

I asked church family, in mid-pandemic, to contribute flowers.

I asked people to plant flowers around our church. The Sunday school children plant flowers every Spring, and I was not going to let the pandemic infect tradition.

I felt responsible for the flowers.

So I watered the flowers.

And, as rain became scarce in May and June, I worried over the flowers.  I wanted them to be in full bloom when safety protocols allowed us to re-gather for worship.

I kept watering the flowers.

And some of the flowers thrived, and some withered.

I watered the flowers more often. And, still, some withered.

I soaked the flowers. And while some responded, others resisted. This was not the most glorious year for flowers at church.

But this week, six weeks after we planted them, several of the flowers blossomed for the first time.  Yellow flowers. Purple flowers. White flowers. And, in one corner of the church, a corner where the hose wouldn’t reach, the unimaginable red flowers in this photo blossomed. I had to carry water to them in a pitcher. And I carried it for weeks.

I don’t know if my effort had any impact on the flowers. I don’t know how my water could help create those amazing colors. But I invested in the plants, I cared about them, and I felt joy when they blossomed.  I took photographs and shared my joy with people I love. The flowers weren’t in bloom when we first re-gathered. They didn’t respond to my calendar. And I don’t know that anyone but me will see them.  But I see them, and I appreciate them. I am sharing my walk with them, and my walk has improved.

Near the start of the pandemic, as the importance of hand-washing was magnified, a friend suggested lifting a prayer every time we washed our hands. So I lifted prayer 15 or 20 times daily, for different people.

This same friend’s husband was recently rushed to the hospital with a life-threatening medical issue. She asked us to pray, and I prayed for them every time I washed my hands, and a dozen other times during the day. I was soaking them with prayer. After 48 hours, he began showing improvement. After a week, he returned home, much therapy ahead, but also much hope. I invested in them, and I felt their joy.  I shared my walk with them, and my walk improved.

Praying is so much like watering the flowers. We’re not sure when to water, or how much to water, of if the water is really making any difference to the flowers. But as it becomes a shared journey, a shared walk, it also becomes a shared hope, and sometimes a shared joy.

God doesn’t give us control when he invites us to pray. But he allows us to invest, to take responsibility, to share, in each other’s walk. And a shared walk produces unimaginable colors.