Ok, so pansies don’t smell.
But if they did, I wouldn’t have time to notice.
Shoot, I don’t even have enough time to know my flowers. I called the flowers in this picture VIOLETS before my friend Kathy oh-so-gently corrected me. (Too bad my mistake will linger forever in the permalink.)
Ever have those times in your life where your margin–for time, for sitting, for even thinking–is nill?
I was touched by a post by Mad21 over at Make A Difference to One’s blog site, where she talked about all the precious words her kiddos create. We still have some of those words . . . still have some of those moments . . . from the bygone days of chubby toddler legs and dimpled knuckle bedtimes that disappear all-too-quickly into the engulfing mist of time.
And after I read it, I realized . . .
. . . I’m not taking my time.
Let alone, taking time for them.
Those whom I love most.
Oh, sure, I could chalk it up to a busy season of end-of-school events and projects, a sports season, and other not-so-small changes in our family (two puppies, to be specific).
God wants me to be still.
I can barely hear Him through the chaos.
But I hear Him.
“Be still,” He whispers.
“Be still and know,” He encourages, with a hand against the side of my worried face.
“Stoop to smell the pansies,” He says, as He leads me to my own front porch.
“You might not get the scent of a rose, but you’ll get the sweet fragrance of Me.”
So on this Tuesday, I’m unwrapping the pansies on my front porch.
And I hope, after reading this, you’ll get a whiff of the bouquet, too.
Consider the lillies today.
Or the pansies.
Whichever you can see from your front stoop.
“Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble,
and he brought them out of their distress.
He stilled the storm to a whisper;
the waves of the sea were hushed.
They were glad when it grew calm,
and he guided them to their desired haven.”