The Peace Lilly

I was sitting in my office one day when Todd walked in holding a pitiful-looking, dried-up plant. Its leaves hung limp, completely withered. Someone had told him to throw it in the dumpster.

But Todd knows my heart.

He knows I love second chances — especially the fragile ones.

So instead of tossing it away, he brought it to me with the warmest smile, as if he was gifting me something precious. And in a way, he was.

I carried that little plant home, placed its whole pot gently down into a bucket of water, and waited.

By the very next day, life began to return.

A green leaf here.

A little perk there.

And soon — almost like gratitude overflowing — it began to bloom. Two, sometimes three flowers at a time, as if whispering, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

It spent the summer in our little Memorial Garden, quietly growing. I’ll be honest — I didn’t tend the garden well this year. Life has been heavy, and energy has been short.

Still, the little Peace Lily grew. Some leaves dried, some looked messy, but growth continued anyway. Resilient. Stubborn. Alive.

Yesterday, with winter’s frost coming, I asked Todd to bring in all the houseplants. I rolled myself out to the porch and noticed all of them were gone — except the Peace Lily.

Todd hesitated.

“It’s too big. Too messy,” he said.

I just smiled and asked him to bring it to me — and the scissors.

Because something that has fought for life deserves to be cared for.

So I gave it a good pruning — cut away the dried leaves and spent blooms, the parts that once served a purpose but were now holding it back. It didn’t look perfect afterward. But pruning isn’t about perfection — it’s about preparing for the next season of growth.

And now, it will sit in our pantry all winter long, protected from the cold.

It doesn’t have to grow.

It doesn’t have to bloom.

I am just letting it simply be still until the warmth returns

.