After church, I’m chopping vegetables to add to my pasta sauce, and I remember my garden. I haven’t harvested in weeks because the season’s over. The peppers are surely past their prime, so why bother? Those peppers are old, withered, and done.
It’s cold outside. The leaves are changing. The garden is no more.
But something nags at me to check the garden just in case. I run out into the crisp fall air, doubtful.
|End-of-Season Garden Peppers|
Whoever said a season’s over or that something (or someone) is past her prime hasn’t seen my peppers.
|These Peppers Still Blossom in Old Age|
I’m out there, knee deep in glorious peppers, and I’m laughing about all the hope out here in my garden. I recall the verse in Psalm 92 about folks “planted in the house of the Lord.” The psalmist writes: “They will still bear fruit in old age. They will stay fresh and green.”
And these peppers aren’t finished. They still blossom! They still send out new leaves! Defiant! Prolific!
Living with flair means I know nobody’s too old or past her prime. Things can happen and hope can live no matter what season, no matter what age, and no matter how long it’s been.