Pink Light

She handed me the plant a few weeks before she died. Maybe a little more than that, maybe a couple of months before. I don't remember. It was a cheery little thing, resting happily in its round green plastic container. I frowned and shook my head. "Mom, don't give me that," I told her firmly. "I'm horrible with plants. I'll kill it." She pushed the plant closer to me, pressing it into my hands. "I am giving it to you because you can do anything with God,Donna. I know that if you ask Him, He will help you to keep this plant alive." I shook my head again but if you knew my former MIL, Sandra, or Mom, as everyone called her, you would know there are times you just can't argue with her.

And so I kept the plant. I brought it home and put it on my tiny front porch stoop. There it has sat, all by its lonesome. I have managed to remember to water it sporadically, most often when I am also pouring crunchy cat kibble on the plastic plate for Marcos, or when I stand to wait, arms crossed, in my nightgown early mornings and late nights, watching and waiting for the dogs to come in from going out to walk.

Tiny green leaves stubbornly emerged over the months the plant has sat there, even though there were also brown stems and some dying leaves sticking out from the dirt. I have never expected it to live long, and am surprised to see it surviving under my haphazard tutelage.

And then...yesterday...on Easter Sunday...a bit of pink caught my eye. I glanced down and there, in the hazy golden light of early Sunday morning, a vivid curve of pink, petals soft and perfect, rose from the little plant to greet me.

I thought of Mom. I thought of the fact that I simply do not do well with plants. But Mom ignored the fact...because of her faith that I could do something I KNEW I could not do. She saw that little pink bloom with her spirit eyes, long before it ever came to be. Because of her faith, I did something extraordinary. I kept a silly little plant alive. Small beans to some, but a bit of mighty mountain moving to me.

Changing all the time.....

It is now hot springtime in Georgia. April 22. Good Friday. I am no longer in a relationship, but surprisingly am at peace with that. I sit at the large, wide public library just a block down from my job. Tall, squared-off windows line the entire wall to my right, and I glance away from writing from time to time, drawn to the happy look of yellow jonquils swaying gently in an invisible breeze. Much has been taken from me this year, but much has been given. Today, I rest in the quiet, simple knowledge that I am becoming only more and more the woman I am created to be, complete with every heartache, every glad, quick joy and every dream that comes to light in this questioning, hurting heart of mine.