Back in May, I bought a bunch of flowers for my front porch. I don’t have a very green thumb, so I have to buy things that will grow despite me, not because of me. Most of my flowers have done really well…a few have withered, but most have flourished without incident.
Except for the little yellow flower in the white pot. I found a pretty wrought iron flower stand in the garage and a a pot that “just fit.” I selected just the right flower to put in the pot and landed on a pretty yellow one. It seemed happy, and something I’d like visitors to look at before they walked through the front door. A perfect little flower in a perfect little pot.
Had I but known.
Over the past three months of summer weather, that poor flower has been through more adversity than any of the other flowers put together. Every storm that comes through knocks it over and spills out the soil in the pot. The weather never seems to bother any of the other plants. Some that are even out in the open. Just this little flower in the little pot. Over time, the edges of the pot have been broken off, some shattered, some just chipped.
It happened again just a day or so ago and I picked it up, dusted it off and set it back up. But you know what I noticed this time?
That little flower just keeps blooming. No matter what happens to it, it keeps blooming. Oh, it might lose it’s blooms for a day or two, and I’ll think that’s it, it’s dead. But it never is. Half the soil can be missing, but it keeps blooming. It’s outer shell can be broken, but it keeps blooming.
There’s a lot I can learn from that little flower. Things in life happen. Storms come and knock me down and knock me over when others seem to be unaffected by adversity of any kind. They flourish while I’m covered in dirt with broken pieces all around me.
People I love depart from me, whether in body or in distance. People can be good, but they can also be hurtful. Sometimes I feel like maybe I have a chunk missing or a scuff here and there. But I get back up again, and I keep moving forward.
I’ve decided to keep it in the broken pot. Because now it has character.
Sure, when people walk into my home, maybe they’ll think I’ve just got a broken pot with a ragged flower. Maybe they will think the other flowers are prettier. But this is the one that I’m drawn to. The one that’s beaten but not broken, the one that’s dirty, but dignified. The one that just keeps blooming.