Take a Minute…

This morning my daughter had a hair appointment, which translated into something even better—Nana time.

My grandson decided to spend a little time this morning in the machine shop with his Grampy. My sweet, perfect four-year-old granddaughter had different plans.

"Nan, wet's pick flowers for Mama."

Some of my  favorite words.

Now, if you've ever spent time with a four-year-old, you know there isn't much of an agenda. There isn't a checklist or a destination. There is simply delight.

Over nearly a quarter acre of flowers, it went something like this…

"Nan, wook!"

She'd point excitedly and run. I'd cut a flower and hand it to her to place in our harvest bucket.

A minute later…

"Not yet. I need more wawa."

Off she'd run to stand under the sprinkler, holding the bucket over her head while laughing as the water splashed down.

I don't know if we harvested more flowers or more memories.

These moments are gold. No… they're more precious than gold.

I wouldn't trade them for anything.

When I stop and think about everything that led to this simple morning, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. There are nearly 600 dahlias growing here, many of them seedlings from my own breeding project. I'm learning the art and science of developing my own line of dahlias, and I absolutely love it.

But even that story started long before I planted the first tuber.

It began with a husband who worked hard enough to buy this beautiful property years before we ever met. A husband who graciously smiles when, instead of sitting at my desk or standing at my easel, he finds me happily digging in the dirt.

Love often looks like making room for someone else's joy.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I call romancing the day to day.

It's choosing to notice the beauty tucked inside ordinary moments.

It's recognizing that today's bouquet didn't happen overnight. It's the result of countless little choices, little acts of faithfulness, little bits of work that eventually bloom into something beautiful.

It's realizing that maybe, years from now, my granddaughter won't remember every flower we picked.

But perhaps she'll remember picking flowers with her Nan.

Maybe she'll remember painting together because "Nan is an artist" and her Nan is teaching her that she too "is an artist!"

Maybe those little moments will become part of the tapestry of who she becomes.

Isn't that just like God?

He weaves our lives together in ways we rarely recognize while they're happening. The ordinary becomes extraordinary when viewed through the lens of gratitude.

Being outside in His creation…
Growing flowers…
Painting those flowers…
Watching little hands carry a bucket that's almost bigger than those hands are…

None of it feels accidental.

For years, there was something stirring beneath the surface of my heart that I couldn't quite name. I didn't know painting would awaken it. I didn't know creating would fulfill something deep inside my soul.

Yet here I am.

At sixty years old, I'm finally willing to share that softer part of myself—the part that sees wonder everywhere. The part that believes beauty matters. The part that wants to slow down long enough to notice what God has been placing in front of us all along.

Some people who have known me for years may think this sounds a little sentimental.

Maybe it is.

But it's real.

And perhaps that's what art has given me more than anything else—the courage to be vulnerable enough to share what moves my heart.

All of this started because a little girl wanted to pick flowers for her mama.

Now my kitchen is overflowing with bouquets.

More importantly, my heart is overflowing too.

God is so incredibly good.

My prayer is that I never become too busy to notice His goodness hiding in ordinary days.

After all, the most beautiful life isn't built in grand moments.

It's built one ordinary, grace-filled day at a time.