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I bought some flowers last night.  I took the two youngest girls and let them run around the greenhouse, choosing their favorite ones to take home and plant.  We picked the oldest up from her open gym at the school, got home, and began the planting.  Gathered up the mismatched pots, found the tiny spades and garden gloves, and got to it.  There were little feet running to fill the watering can again and again, and exclamations of delight as they successfully pulled the flowers out of their plastic homes and replanted them into the pots.  Watching tiny fingers break up the root system a bit before putting them into the soil, seeing those fingers gently pat the soil around it… all a gift.

Every single moment of connection with my kids is a pleasure.  It hasn’t always felt this way.  I lost months of joyful connection with them because of my  struggle with depression and thyroid imbalance. I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time, but now I can see it. The blessing of those months is that I appreciate these moments even more.  I sit in the mess and the imperfection of it, and I can take a deep breath and tell myself it’s about the connection, not about the finished product.  And if the product is finished with joy, then it is a success-even if it’s not perfect.

I’ve sensed the peace and delight of the Father as I sit in this peace and delight in my own children.  Where I used to feel such heaviness on my chest, I now feel a wellspring of joy. I’m so glad that my Father sits with me, in the middle of the mess, and suffers long with me.  I joyfully connect because He joyfully connects.  I can delight in my children because He delights in His.  I waited through some dark days before the Light broke through, and so did He.  I can live whole because He lived holy and broken.

I am grateful for our flower pots scattered around our house, our own ebenezers to the journey we’ve travelled so far.  I noticed last night that one of the pots is cracked.  I carried it around to the back patio, placed the cracked side facing my own chair.  I want that reminder before me- that the broken can still house the beautiful, glory in a broken vessel.