Message in the Morning Glories

I’ve always felt sorry for morning glories.

I discovered them when I was four years old. I’d gotten up early one morning and tiptoed outside. The purplish-blue flowers covered our front porch–so pretty, I ran and woke Mother. The blooms climbed the strings just as she’d intended, all the way to the top of the porch like Jack in the Beanstalk.

We sat enclosed in an enchanted garden.

“Morning glories are fragile,” Mother said. “They can’t take the heat.”

Poor flowers. I felt so sad for them.

Sure enough, right before lunch, their violet heads drooped, colorless and wilted. Mother told me they’d be back the next morning, but I didn’t believe her.

How could they? I’d watched them die.

Doubtful, I woke early the next day and slipped outside to the porch.

How could it be? There they were again. Waiting for me! In all their glory! I ran my finger along their velvety petals.

Now, almost fifty years later, my husband called me out to the garden last week. “Well,” he said grimly. “The morning glories finally won. They took over the garden.” He stooped to pick a few tomatoes and jalepenos. Somehow the delicate flowers had outshined the green beans, field peas, and cucumbers.

I knew I should be upset about losing the vegetables, but I wasn’t. I was proud of the determined little purple flowers!

They twirled around my heart as though they held a message.

What is it, Lord? Why am I rooting for morning glories? Why do I love them so much?

Because You relate to them, He seemed to say. Sometimes the flowers that appear the most fragile are the strongest. Like people. I’ve seen the discouragement in your heart. I will take that delicate dream you’d almost given up on it and make it strong. Trust Me.

Praying for you my friends, and for your delicate, sometimes fragile-feeling dreams.

Love,

Julie