The Yellow Daisies

3 years ago the yellow daisies swayed happy in my parents’ garden. Hundreds of them climbed into the sky and smiled, peacefully holding the gaze of the sun as it set and the moon as it rose. They were so beautiful and so cheerful. They were also oblivious to the storm setting in.


3 years ago was hard, really hard. We dealt with the anguish of death and divorce and depression. And three years ago, it seemed the daisies stopped smiling, stopped growing. They were gone. The garden was barren.

But then the other day my mom called me, perplexed: “The daisies that haven’t grown in three years– they’re blooming again.”

Sometimes hope burrows for a bit before it rises anew. Just because something seems lost doesn’t mean it can’t be restored, redeemed, regrown.

“To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the LORD has planted for his own glory” (Isaiah 61:3).


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