Consider the Petunias


I purchased them as soon as they were available in the local nursery; carefully planted them in the large pot, watered them faithfully every day and fertilized them twice a month as recommended.  I inspected them daily and silently cheered them on as new leaves appeared and then tiny buds.  I took delight as the petals each jewel-toned blossom unfurled into a mature flower.  Soon they were cascading over the edge of the pot, their dark green foliage supporting a riot of colorful flowers.

Then one morning I noticed a few blossoms looked tattered.  When I inspected them more closely I saw several buds had holes in them down by the stem.  Then I noticed a bright green worm half in and half out of one of the buds.  A caterpillar!  As examined each blossom and bud carefully I found more of the green worms: some just a bit thicker than a hair and others larger and plumper, obviously well nourished.  I plucked them off of blossoms, now in shreds; buds with the interior already devoured; and along stems.

While I was working I thought how much worry in my life is like the caterpillars among the petunias.  It ruins the perfect beauty of today leaving it ragged and torn; and invades the intended perfection of tomorrow leaving it already damaged and hollow.



A Little Boy

I just finished another chapter in the book I’m writing, a memoir, of life on a homestead in Alaska in the early 1950s.  There were experiences involving my son — a toddler.  Shortly thereafter he phoned me, just to see how I was doing.   As always, it was so good hearing his voice.

But what a transition — from memories of life with a child to speaking with a grown man.  One and the same person, but the man who is now a senior citizen!

Not Hal, my son

I’m so proud of this man, the one who grew from the child I write about.  He’s not rich or famous, he’s an ordinary person.  But he’s a man with integrity, honest, kind, faithful — all of the attributes the mother of a child hoped and prayed for.

Walking Taco


Taco Belle, my “designer dog,” some would call her a Heinz variety because she’s not an identifiable breed, loves her walk.  At age 15+ she’s a senior citizen, just like me, her owner (her Mom.)  Like all dogs, she loves going for a walk, and she knows when I ready to take her.  When she sees my pick up my glasses and get me jacket, the next step is getting her leash so she turns in circles and barks.

She has also gotten quite deaf.  When we walk through the park she doesn’t hear the dogs on the other side of the fence barking at her.  And her sight is failing a bit, too.  So it’s up to me to see and hear for her — to keep her safe.

Just God does for us.  We’re not able to see the possible dangers around us, and we don’t hear what may be harmful.  But just like Taco on the end of the leash, we’re dependent on God to keep us safe.