My eyebrows furrowed at the sound of the garbage disposal gobbling up the remains of our lunch. I wiped down the counters and felt a longing for fresh-cut flowers. It was an overcast day and the dreary light making its way into the kitchen was quite lacking. I was in a mood (to say the least) and bright flowers were my remedy.

I grabbed some scissors, slipped on my flip-flops, and went out. I walked to the back of the house and noticed several delicate, yellow flowers peeking out of a weedy mess. They were hidden. Yet, so pretty. I cut the two stems and proudly placed them in my mason jar. I added water, anxious for them to brighten my dimly lit kitchen.

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As I inspected the stems, however, I saw countless little critters clinging for dear life. Some bugs I recognized, others I had never seen before. With a heavy sigh and a weary shrug, I walked the flowers outside and sat the jar on the back porch. These flowers weren’t meant to be in the spotlight today. (And those bugs weren’t meant to be in my house.)

They were always intended to be hidden. Planted by their Creator to fulfill an unseen and very valuable purpose.

A wildflower. Often trampled. Overlooked. Yet, so purposeful. So very beautiful. A life source for all it blooms near.

A mother. Hidden away in her house. Trampled by the workload and the toddlers. Overlooked by the masses. Yet, so purposeful. So very beautiful. A life source for all she cares for.

A mother is the irreplaceable heartbeat of the home. The thread that holds it all together.

She’s a wildflower that blooms no matter her surroundings. Planted by her Creator for a very valuable purpose.

Don’t lose hope when you feel unseen. When your purpose feels hidden. When the clouds cover the sunshine and when the dreary makes its way into your soul.

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There is great triumph and strength found in blooming among the weeds, wiping sticky faces, sorting piles of laundry, dancing in the rain, and flourishing where you are planted.

“Some of my servants have indeed won great visible victories and are rightly loved and reverenced by other men, but always their greatest victories are like the wildflowers, those which no one knows about.” Hannah Hurnard, Hinds’ Feet on High Places