My garden is me: wild, with borders.
My mom.

Perhaps that is part of why us girls feel so at home in our yard, it's an expression of our mother. And perhaps, a bit of an expression of us too. Whatever it is, I love few things more than spending a morning on the porch swing, coffee in hand, just being there. I might have a book, a journal, or absolutely nothing. It's a lovely place. It's a wild place with borders. It's a safe place. It's an enchanting place. It's a place that's always changing, moving, growing, nurturing, loving, and receiving. It is where I am about to go sit right now, with a blanket and a hot cup of coffee.

Thank you mom for how you've poured you into your garden. I am grateful the Lord gave it to you, and for the revelation He's given you about it. And I'm grateful that He created you to be such a nurturing and loving woman, one who loves to create and transform, one who turns the things she touches into something beautiful. And also one who loves to have fun in the process. One who is wild, with borders. I'm grateful you've trained us girls to be the same.

Love you. And love mornings like this, in your garden.