I have an indoor garden. It’s not filled with potted plants or amazing artificial flower arrangements. It’s not large enough to take up any noticeable square footage in my home. In fact, it fits on a few inches of my window sill. But the room it takes up in my heart is immeasurable.
My indoor garden is filled with dried flowers. Most of these flowers are considered weeds. A few are more decorative flowers that have fallen off their respective plants. One or two have even come from the pavement of the local home improvement store. But each one of them is a priceless treasure because each of them comes from one of my girls.
My sweeties will walk to piano lessons, or play out in the yard, or look around on their way to a friend’s house to find flowers to bring me. They know not to pick any that are “show” flowers, and they abide by that rule well. But these flowers show more than their commitment to following the rules.
These flowers demonstrate their complete, unspoiled, child-like, perfect love for me. Each time one of my girls hands me a blossom, though it may be squished or browned, her eyes light up. “Here, Mommy,” she says, “I got this just for you.” And I smile, thank her, hug her tightly, and take the proffered weed and treat it like the symbolic orchid that it is.
And though the flowers are gone for the season, I still have the warms hugs and dried garden planted within my heart to grow and blossom for a lifetime.