m.

we met over on wealthy,
the door to the bakery opened,
blasting us with smells of challa,
and freshly brewed coffee.
we picked the table next to the window,
the sun blazing through
on that cold day.
I watched as she picked at her salad,
complaining
that they forgot the
dressing
and I sipped my hot chocolate
still hopeful.
I searched her eyes
for life,
for some kind of growth or movement
but she stared right through
me
and all was quiet.
I gently prompted her to share,
glimpsing a flash of guilt,
but it disappeared
just as quickly
as she began to talk.
Casually, she shared she was dating
a nice guy,
and she was moving back home
because that had been the plan
all along..
My spirit ached for this small shell
because I could read
 between the lines
and knew things were not
all they cracked up to be.
I know what growth looks like
in her,
I've seen it,
and I'll always pray and keep looking.
I've seen her with sparkling eyes
and the Holy Spirit
 quiet and content
inside her.
She is quick to sing
and she looks me straight in the eye.
Her heart is soft and teachable
open to correction
and eager for change.
But that morning I didn't see it.
I saw excuses, regrets, complacency.
I saw a flower dormant
and closed
no fragrance or color to share.
It made me sad,
 but still hopeful,
because I know who the Gardener is
and what He is capable of
when He uses
His hands.
His gentle hands,
He works the soil,
tilling it and removing weeds
and debris,
pruning off dead branches
and watering, watering,
w a t e r i n g,
with His living water.
Ah, little m. How I have not stopped
praying for you, assured of
His promise for you,
His little flower bud
and I pray I see the Water reach down
deep
and you take root in Him
and grow, sweet one.
Grow and let all smell your fragrance
and awe at your beauty.
Jesus, please don't ever stop
gardening her.