Grace the Size of a Zinnia Seed
~the story of Preston and a boy's loving care to help him grow
He was the only one allowed to make cuttings off of the bush, but he did so prudently. And one of the times my youngest son cut from the thriving zinnia bush was when three bright and beautiful blossoms, ‘the best ones’, he called them, were carefully chosen for an arrangement that he’d place in our guest bedroom for Mamaw and Papaw when they came to visit - decoration for the room, and a gift from Andrew.
Today, I walked in to tidy up our guest bedroom and found three crispy, faded zinnias with the light from the nearby window casting a dull glow on them, enough to illuminate the frosted-from-dust quality of the champagne glass they were in - the champagne glasses that are the only fancy glasses Andrew can reach because they are low in the butler’s pantry cabinet, and he surely needed no help with the arrangement and presentation of this grand gift for his grandparents.
It all began at school when he planted one zinnia seed in a small, cheap plastic vase. His teacher Sharpie’d his name in large print across the front and all of the little vases with names sat in the classroom for a week or two before coming home, and before any sprouts had emerged. We wondered if any ever would. As we worked on patience, we googled ‘zinnia’s’ and wondered what colors ours would become. This future hope needed a name and Andrew chose Preston.
When Preston’s first sprout of green emerged, we celebrated. Overly so.
When Preston’s first stem stood firm and tall, and a bright little green leaf curled off of it, we cheered.
Preston sat on our windowsill beside the art calendar we changed daily; the spot Andrew chose as a reminder to care for him daily when the calendar picture was changed. He received plenty of quality attention, conversations, watering, even leaf massages, and not just from Andrew. But a summer plant was a hard one to care for when there were trips to take. Andrew asked if we could hire someone to water him while we were gone. At a plant watering fee of $30 a day, we assured him Preston would be fine.
And sure enough, upon returning home, Preston was the first thing Andrew checked. This time and a few others, Preston almost left us, but with some overwatering, or hopeful resuscitation, he would come back to life. Until he almost didn’t.
Another time we returned home, Preston’s dirt became a small, plastic vase-sized brick, easily lifted out of its vase. His stems and leaves were completely dehydrated at best, and completely wilted at worst. Andrew took him to a spot in our yard and planted the brittle, dry mass with the puny greenery into the dirt. He watered it. And he hoped. We all hoped.
The sun, rain, and Andrew showered Preston with love. All of us could tell he was finally happy because not long after being outside, he began to grow quickly and large, with tight poetic buds popping up everywhere. Preston surprised us all with his robust growth - all from one seed. When one of the main stems started to droop because the blossoms were too heavy, Andrew grabbed a stake and went to work using twist ties to keep Preston upright. Our older son showed surprising respect by not hitting wiffle balls into Preston. Our daughter regularly enjoyed commenting on the new blossoms that would appear overnight.
We weren’t the only ones enjoying Preston’s sweetness. We observed leaf-footed bugs sucking the juices from his leaves and leaving unsightly holes behind. We saw bees and butterflies enjoying Preston, including a fiery skipper with tattered wings, likely taking the final sips of his short life, happily, from our Preston.
We saw symmetry and different types of petal and sepal patterns, we experienced awe and wonder in the beauty and intricacy of the tiny flowers inside the center of the flower, we even allowed the plant bugs to eat the leaves because at least they weren’t eating the petals and well, “they need food, too”. These were important decisions, and it was all up to Andrew. He learned how to truly care for something from its beginning.
Preston became a vibrant bush, bursting with blossoms. His space in the raised bed was the brightest spot in our yard with his magenta petals and yellow tiny-flower-centers. Some days, he was the brightest spot in our hearts. It wasn’t only Andrew invested in Preston’s growth and story, we all tuned in each day, each week. We all had hope.
Not long after Preston’s prime, a cold day came through, followed by a frosty night. The very next day, Preston was dead.
It happened quickly and surprised me. I was worried about Andrew and what he would think but he was very matter-of-fact about it and said, “The cold killed him.” He was glad we had snipped a bud off of Preston and pressed it in our flower press, knowing we will forever have a piece of him, but he seemed to take Preston’s sudden death well.
We had an impromptu lesson on life and death in plants, on annuals and perennials, and after dissecting Preston’s dead blooms to save his seeds, my son looks forward to planting Preston 2.0 when Spring comes again. Preston shall live on in our hearts and our yard.
. . .
Andrew has a tender heart and it was sweet to watch him care so dutifully and considerately for Preston. We have had a very hard season and this little seed which turned into this large, stunning plant, and even now has become these gorgeous dried flowers and seeds for next year, truly brought joy in unexpected ways to each of our family members in their own ways over the last few months. Each one of us at some point was surprised by its beauty, charm and resiliency. Perhaps when we thought we were feeding and helping it, it was really feeding and helping us.
We know what faith the size of mustard seed does. How about grace the size of a zinnia seed? We are grateful, always, for Jesus’s sustaining grace, which comes in all shapes and sizes. And I am grateful for the opportunity to reflect on this plant and story, documenting Andrew’s care and some of the wonderful things we learned and were shown from this experience.
I have been so encouraged and inspired by the practice of documenting the liturgy of the little things on my Instagram, which is a practice started by
by Please check out her lovely Substack.I also thoroughly enjoyed taking photographs of Preston during his lifespan and couldn’t simply include one or two here. But believe me when I say there are a hundred more I didn’t include. I hope you enjoy them.
If you are interested in purchasing prints of any of the ones on which I’ve included a title, please let me know. I am going to start offering some of my photographs for sale. Thank you, as always for being here. I am grateful for you.
“Everything is grace, everything is the direct effect of our father’s love - difficulties, contradictions, humiliations, all the soul’s miseries, her burdens, her needs - everything, because through them, she learns humility, realizes her weakness. Everything is grace because everything is God’s gift. Whatever be the character of life or its unexpected events - to the heart that loves, all is well.”
- St. Therese of Lisieux, from ‘Her Last Conversations’
So beautiful ✨ I really need to try and plant one of these someday!
This is just lovely thank you for sharing! And gorgeous photos too 🙏🏻