Sunday, June 7, 2015

days in the flower shop



I work occasionally in a flower shop. One day while running errands I noticed it and had to take a moment to look inside. I loved it the second I walked through the doors. It's a tiny place, bursting with every kind of flower and smells so good that you're drawn in and never want to leave. It immediately reminded me of my great-grandmother and the hours we spent in her flower garden, caring for her roses and picking our favorites to bring inside for arrangements.

The owner of the shop is one of the nicest woman I've known. She cares about people and as she works the love flows out of her hands and into the flowers. I found myself making an excuse to head to that part of town so I could sneak in her shop. When she mentioned that she could use some help, I was ecstatic at the opportunity . It's extremely flexible and and very little hours, which is the only thing I could do with the children. I am privileged to work somewhere I love so much.



Each time I've worked though, the thing that comes to mind most, is how lucky I am to have a husband who works so hard for his family. It's made me more aware of the pressures he must feel providing for us. The weight he carries to make sure our needs are met. He faithfully works on the good, bad, and hard, days. He doesn't have flexibility or the freedom to work his dream job whenever he feels like it, but pushes through no matter what. I am very grateful for him.

It also makes me think about my work as a mother. Its a stark contrast. When I'm in the flower shop I'm continually thanked and appreciated for my work. I feel accomplished. Which is pretty different than how my days go at home, with the kids. When Caleb comes home from work and asks about my day, as I tell him, often the list repeats itself, and many days it could look as though I did nothing. One feels good, it's beautiful, appreciated work, while the other is humble, servant work, that stretches me in every way. I see immediate results in the flower shop, while at home, I know mothering is a lifelong venture. 

But, I would argue, it's even a more beautiful work. It's sometimes harder to see or remember, but raising my children is the most important work for me. It comes down to my perspective and where I find my worth. The importance of my work cannot be based on how it makes me feel, but rather whatever work I do, I do it as unto the Lord, and that is where it's worth is found. 


1 comment:

Rebekah said...

Seeing those flowers makes my heart sing. Your reflection fills me with Praise to our Maker. It has been too long since I ventured into the blogosphere and read your encouraging words. I have much to catch up on.

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