As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to children’s children, to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments.
Psalm 103:15-18
That woman-child of ours, 25 years old this year, she handed me a single stem of purple yesterday, a huge smile on her face, her voice lilting.
Look Mom! I brought you a present! The field behind my apartment is full of these purple flowers!
And so they grow. Flowers of the field. Our children. Some thrive spiritually, if not in the ways the world esteems.
Each spring, purple waves rise from the fields by our farm and fill the air with sweet.
Later in the day, I grab my camera and drive our daughter down to the beach by our house.
There’s another patch of the wildflowers by the ruins of an old barn foundation.
(We can feel ruined sometimes, yes? And yet, by the grace of our great God, we will flourish in season.)
Look Mom! There they are again! The purple flowers! The ones by my apartment!
She’s just as excited as she was in the morning.
She’s sweet.
She’s simple.
Like the purple spring flowers.
Her body has aged in the 19 years we’ve loved her, these years after her first six spent in a Russian orphanage.
She’s been through much—abandonment, orphanage life, leg surgeries, multiple therapies for cognitive disabilities, hospitalization for bipolar disorder two years ago. She tells me often how thankful she is for medication, a gift from God that keeps her stable and able to praise him.
Her dad and I?
Well, we’re over 60 and approaching 60, respectively. We spend much of our days caring for our kids, all with permanent special needs who need assistance.
And this dear eldest of ours?
We care for her daily needs though she lives in a supported apartment close-by with a resident “manager” who goes above and beyond to provide for her.
Don’t know what God has planned for our kids once he takes us Home, if he does take us Home before them, before her.
But we know he will care for them, with many who love them right in our own community.
One has taken Anna under her wing. Made a new job for her. Makes meals with her. Includes her in her family. Promised to care for her when we’re gone. Gives her much grace.
We’ve prepared, as much as we can, her father and I. And so we trust. And we’re thankful. All kids are God’s kids first.
She’s a woman-child, this wildflower of ours, sweet as the fields in bloom. She reminds me every day how God cares for all, even the sparrows. He reminds me daily—ALL are gifts. He has taught me the blessing of loving and serving.
By the “the least of these” we learn just how fragile and dependent we are on our God.
By the “least of these” we learn to love Him and those he loves with an everlasting love.
There is heavenly rest here on earth when we remember our humble beginning.
There is heavenly hope here on earth when we remember our holy ending.
I worshipped yesterday in a purple field planted by God, watching our sweet woman-child picking his wildflowers to give, giving glory to him, her God—our God—the God of all who will admit our need.
How I praise our God for simple gifts, for all his gifts, given for us!
All flesh is like grass and all their glory is like the flowers of field. The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord remains forever.
1 Peter 1:24-25