Let me take blossom wherever you may place me as potted…

The day I said yes to you Lord, swaddled at the cross 

Fervent I grow, bringing new seeds to water. Replanted you are my botanist 

Placed with the best of fertilizer, and fresh sprung waters, new shoots spring forth. Appendages, and fresh green leaf. Water seeps deep into my roots. Your miracle grow has taken hold. Pestgilence left with your hands of my repotting 

I am set within the proper light. Daily kept from mossy mold taking hold. Plucked, and kept pruned

All this for you my maker the botanist is to take measure. Pleasure in the blossoms that come from within in. Claiming victory you brought back another planted life from disease it was struck within 

Blossom, let me take blossom wherever you may place me as potted

2 Corinthians 2:14

Thanks be to God who . . . through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place

Photo Credit me; This Cactus flower was given to me by my husband Aaron. Named her Cleo, 8 months of marriage. We celebrate monthly with cards. He got me a plant, and shouldn’t have. Although very sweet! We are sappy (pun intended). ❤💏☝ 

Word Prompt: Blossom

That is no longer my reflection in the old red crusty wagon…

Photo Credit Lisa Ralph; Cheney Wa. This just taken yesterday as my husband I were diligently working on the repairs of our winter flooded basement in sale of our home. As I pulled back the molded covering of the window. Knee deep in mold from weeks of flooding. I saw this red wagon with rain pelting it without reprieve.  I was taken in capture, and mentally in write of what I wrote today. Always stopping to take pics. Him, “hon you working here?” “Yep, just always in thought as I am a writer that is my niche.”


Psalm 46:10

Be still and know that I am God

No longer my reflection in stale waters pelts

My heart as melted into you

No longer filled to over pours of overwhelming skeletons that lay in the rust of the wagons long seasons lodging 

Ripple effect pounds the morning rain in gain of led filled trenches

Be still do not quiver, take warmth. For every cast iron heart, can be made soft as the morning dew

You are an antiquie, like a fiddle in a dusty box ready to be plucked. Beautifully encased. Just need a little polish 

Stop looking at the old wagon hiding out under the stairs. Eaten away by weather’s ways. It is forecast no to rain today. The rust can be scraped away. Taken down to the medal, revamped for a show. For your show 

Go now look at your reflection not in that old red crusty wagon. Look up into the sky, and be still and know that I am God. Your beauty right here. Turn the dog earred pages, of your dusty book. Blow the dust, and take another look.