Back at the beginning of the summer, we had a somewhat empty flower bed on one side of the house, and I decided it was time to plant something new in order to fill in that empty space. I wasn’t quite sure what kind of flower to choose, so I went to the garden section of a home improvement store to check out my options. There were many, and I did what I could to narrow down the choices. I knew I needed a flower that could handle a lot of sunshine and one that wasn’t going to require a ton of attention in order to flourish.

After a bit of back and forth, and with Brad’s help, I settled on the Mexican petunia. It’s a bright purple flower that I thought would look good next to our fuchsia crepe myrtle, and with that color combination, the decision was made. I grabbed a couple plants and headed to the check-out line.

While we were waiting in said line, a man came up, pointed to the flowers, and said something like, “Oh, you picked a great flower; you are going to have fun with those!” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but I was looking forward to finding out. It turns out, the guy knew what he was talking about.

Not long after the flowers were transplanted into the ground, I began to pay attention to one unique quality. The first morning when I walked out to my car, I noticed their bright purple blooms greeting me as I departed for the day. And that evening when I returned home, I noticed those same bright blooms had completely fallen off, shriveling purple petals on the ground beneath the plant. Initially, I was disappointed that the blooms had such a short life-span and thought that maybe, I’d miss-planted them somehow.

But then, I woke up the next morning. Walked out to my car. And couldn’t believe it; there were brand new, bright purple blooms all over the plants. And while, at the time, I thought it was maybe just a one-time thing, a happy little accident, I’ve continued to experience and notice the same cycle each and every day this summer. Bright, fresh blooms in the morning; fallen, crumpling blooms in the evening; new blooms; lost blooms. New blooms. Over and over and over again. If I’ve learned anything, Mexican petunias have quite the quick turnaround.

In a way, paying attention to these flowers has become a spiritual practice for me. And the flowers themselves have turned into my very own little reminder each day - a needed reminder of a familiar truth.

I’ve shared parts of this passage in a couple past reminders, but in the Message version of Lamentations 3:19-23, we read:

19-21 

I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,
    the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed.
I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—
    the feeling of hitting the bottom.
But there’s one other thing I remember,
    and [in] remembering, I keep a grip on hope:

22-23

God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
    his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning.
    How great [is] your faithfulness!

As the author of Lamentations shares, it’s easy to remember all the ways we fall short. And it’s easy for me to count each mistake, each misstep, each metaphorical petal that falls to the ground throughout the day.

It’s the unkind way I snap at a loved one.

The underlying greed as I hold my resources too tightly.

The bitterness and resentment I feel toward a friend who is driving me crazy.

It’s my holding back out of fear.

My struggle with pride.

My preference for convenience over faithfulness.

The way I withhold compassion and understanding.

The knowledge that I probably didn’t do my best.

The list goes on. The petals fall. And the stems or branches are left seemingly barren and frail.

But that’s not the end of the story.

While it’s important to be honest about our shortcomings and to work through them faithfully, part of what I’m learning to remember is that there’s always an invitation to begin again. God is always creating new blooms to greet us, always providing new mercies for fresh starts. And well, I don’t know about you, but most days, that’s exactly what I need. And I’m learning to trust that it’s true. That we can confidently expect new mercies each day.

I mentioned that paying attention to these flowers has become a spiritual practice for me, and it’s true. I’m prone to focus on the fallen petals while completely missing the new blooms. But just as I’ve learned to expect, notice, and look for new purple blooms each morning, I’ve also noticed a shift in my posture toward God, especially as I start my days. That’s what spiritual practices or habits do, after all —they re-form and re-shape us. They impact and change us, ever so slowly and slightly, but surely.

And so as I’ve come to depend on seeing these purple flowers each morning, I’ve also grown in my desire to trust God’s relentless bent toward new beginnings. I’m learning to address my shortcomings using a lens with less critique and more kindness, less futility and more hope, less pressure and more peace. Because, as the old hymn says,

“Morning by morning, new mercies [we] see.”

Those new mercies remind us that in the Kingdom of God, yesterday is not today. In the Kingdom of God, what’s dead can come to life. In the Kingdom of God, what’s old can be made new. In the Kingdom of God, what’s wrong will be made right.

So today, if it’s easy to remember your shortcomings, remember, also, that God’s mercies are new every morning. Constant is God’s presence and great is God’s faithfulness. May we start each day like we believe that is true. Thanks be to God.