So, in weeding my comments (bad spammers!) I noticed an old trackback from back in February. It linked back to Gifted Gear Reviews, where Stephen--the author--expressed his annoyance with my classification of his blog as "Dead" in my blog roll. It prompted a post. And there were posts that followed. So, I would like to say, "Sorry, for annoying you Stephen, but at least it prompted you to resume posting."
Happy reading!
And if there are any more not-so-dead blogs out there, please let me know!
Spring is a time of growth and renewal. After the cold, dark days of winter, life springs forth—bright and abundant in a renewed landscape. For me, there’s no better sign of this than the plethora of violets that grow in my backyard. Bright purple and pale purple blossoms pop through the grass, waving with the winds of spring.
When we first bought the house there were no violets. There are no violets in our neighbors’ yards—at least none that I’ve ever seen. Yet the violets now grow abundantly in our yard. As if they were planted by the Lord’s invisible hand just for me. So, while much of my days and my nights are spent in seemingly perpetual busyness, I try to take a moment or two each day to enjoy the rich floral blessings the Lord has provided for me.
Once in a while, someone gets the idea that having the violets growing and waving in my yard is not quite enough. This time it was my mom. She plucked a small bouquet of violets and prompted Alex to bring them into the house. Which he did. When he was far enough ahead of her so she couldn’t see him (this was in our dining room), he quickly shredded the violets—husking the blossoms from the stems and letting the petals sift through his fingers across the floor.
“Oh, Alex,” my mom exclaimed. “You were supposed to give those to Mama.” Instead, I picked up the blossoms and the stems and threw them away.
Willy couldn’t resist. “I’ll bring you flowers, Mom!”
“You don’t have to,” I tell him, “but you can go pick some flowers if you want.”
Off Willy went, leaving the backdoor wide open so Ben could follow. Moments later, while I was washing the stickiness of the last bouquet off my hands, Willy came into the kitchen with a bouquet. A yellow bouquet.
A bouquet of dandelions just for me!
“It was supposed to be the violets, Willy,” my mom said. “The purple ones!”
Willy beamed proudly. “You like yellow, too, don’t you Mom?”
“Yes, Willy,” I said. “I like yellow, too.”
So I trimmed the dandelion stems and filled a small painted tea cup with water and placed my dandelions in their miniature vase. And the violets stayed right where they belong.