The last couple of months have been a rather busy time at the church and at home. It seemed that every week was crammed full of not just our usual routine, but additional meetings, church events, and appointments. And while most of the busy-ness was fun and exciting (like getting ready to move, and opening the new church garden) some of it was stressful. Last week I found myself overtired and overwhelmed.
Then my husband said to me, “I looked at your blog today and it’s been awhile since you’ve posted anything new.” I gave him the stink eye. He was not helping. “No, no,” he added in a hurry. “Of course you’ve had other things to tend to. But I was reading under the “About” tab where it says, ‘After a summer sabbatical, I am striving to learn a healthy rhythm of work and rest’ “.
He was right. I had somehow gotten off balance. There was too much work and not enough rest. As I looked at the calendar, there wasn’t much I could change about my immediate schedule or committments. I sat in front of the computer and sighed.
Suddenly, he was reaching over my shoulder to place a small glass in front of me. It was a clear, tiny glass with one pink rose in it. “I know you need the garden,” he said. “And I thought for now it will just have to come to you.” How sweet!
My rose bush–and I have only one–is a rugose rosa, a fragrant double-pink variety that is quite hardy in our Canadian climate. We put it in a couple of years ago, and since then it has only had a few blooms each year. This year, however, it seems to have made itself comfortable and is happily covered in buds and blooms.
Not only did my little rose bloom look pretty sitting in front of me but it smelled wonderful, too. As I worked, I took deep breath after deep breath, inhaling the summery perfume. I still had lots to do, but it felt different. I think sometimes I forget that little things can make a big difference.
I know that I will not be this busy forever. Seasons change. The ebb and flow of work and family life will shift again. In the mean time, it is great to think that when I can’t get outside to visit the garden, it can come inside to visit me.