I don’t have a green thumb. When I first met my husband, he gave me a cute potted miniature rose. One morning, I put it on the patio for some sun, and promptly forgot about it… until a week later. Alas, the tiny rose was no match for the fierce California sun. Needless to say, my husband never gave me plants again. My dad, however, grew up on a farm, and plants thrive under his care. Recently, I wanted to plant a rose in the backyard of our new home. With my dad’s help, we planted a healthy and robust rose bush. The first bloom was glorious! The beautiful blossoms were as big as a grapefruit, and bloomed for days. After the flowers wilted, I continued to water and care for the plant. However, when some of the leaves started to shrivel and yellow. I knew something was wrong.
Thoughts On a Quiet Sunday Morning
This Sunday morning, I woke up with an unusual sense of Peace. Not wanting to wake up my husband, I took a cup of tea and sat in the study. Sunday mornings are often the most peaceful time. Why is that? Perhaps it is the lack of traffic zooming down the street. Sunday morning is simply a slower and quieter time for folks in my neighborhood. I’ve experienced this same quietness before. The stillness is similar, but on this particular Sunday, there’s an extra sense of hope and delight – a “smile from heaven” if you will.