I’d been meaning to move those peonies for years. They were getting too big to grow under that pear tree. It was on my list of things to do, move those peonies where they could get more sun. But each time I thought of it, it was too late in the season. And here they are again—just about ready to bloom open with those full, fragrant flowers when a wind storm splits the pear tree right through its heart.
There is no hope for the tree, so the crew comes at eight in the morning. The supervisor goes over the procedure with me, has me sign the invoice. Then he raises his eyebrows and says, “You’re going to lose those flowers. No way around it.”
My sister-in-law gave me that peony bush. She and my mother-in-law have parts of the same root. They came from her grandmother’s garden. I love imagining that woman from another century with a clutch of my peonies on her table. Should be no big deal, I tell myself. But it’s one of those things that connects us in this world. Trees and flowers—these growing things—they do this for me. Give this rootless woman something to anchor to.
I’m sharing the rest of this story over at The High Calling today, Friends. Will you join me there and celebrate the Resurrection moments with me?
Every Monday I’ll be sharing one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find Him. Be with Him. Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us: