I trudged across the parking lot toward the one permitted door of the grocery store. Anxious, heavy of heart, trying to keep my chin up. Despair, wrestling with gratitude for the task and the means. Masked I was, with foggy lenses, and little looking for grace. But grace was looking for me. On the sidewalk outside the store, rows of black plastic pots containing little wooden trellises, on which grew mandevilla vines. All looked healthy, and half-price didn’t hurt! So I put one in my cart. Planted the vine in our flower bed, in a sunny spot, was quickly rewarded with vigorous growth, then the unfolding of snow white flowers.
During my inspection some days later I noticed a bud with a rosy cast to it. As it happens, ten dollars had bought me not one vine but two!
The white-bearing vine is more prolific. But oh the heart-lift of pink, with contrasting margin!
The name Amelia comes to us from the Germanic word amal, which means ‘work.’
Hence the name Amelia means industrious.
Our darling Amelia’s work, in part, is to delight and educate her grandmother.
I don’t want to impute too much maturity to a person of two and a half years, but yesterday I saw Amelia take a moment to master herself. She had just received from her Grandpa a mild verbal limit on her desired course of action. Her grandpa–whom she adores, and it’s mutual. On hearing this directive, this thwarting of her plans and desires, her little face clouded. Just for a moment, she turned her clouded face to the wall. And here’s the thing: Grandpa on the opposite side of the room could not see this. It was not for him she did it, but seemingly for herself. Having managed her reaction, she chose her response: to re-engage the sunshine and go on with her morning.
This morning when I all immersed in a creative project felt outrage at the husbandly assumption that he having presented himself in the kitchen was to immediately receive some breakfast, my face clouded. But then I chose the Amelia-response.
I lift my eyes to heaven, from whence cometh my help…