Our exceptionally thoughtful friend Nancy always remembers Logan's special days. Back in February of this year, she brought us a plant (as she often has in the past) in a pot with his name on it. What she may not know is that we have a history of killing houseplants, so I wasn't super optimistic that this one would survive. It did okay at first, but slowly, over time, it turned brown and seemed to be following the usual doom-related pattern. So imagine my surprise when I walked into the kitchen this evening and noticed this reflected in the window:
A beautiful, brand new buttery yellow bloom. I pulled the pot down from the shelf, carefully rotated the flower until it faced front, picked out the dead pieces, and found yet another bud that's probably a few days from opening.
As I put it back in its place, I said a quiet thank you to God, because this plant served as a good reminder that even things that seem dried out, finished, and even dead can come to life again.
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