What a season of new life—and old lessons—has reminded me about patience, prayer, and hope.
We often say, “April showers bring May flowers,” but living through the showers is a different story altogether.
As we move through life, we experience both the showers and the flowers. So, what are my May flowers this year? What are yours? What are you hoping for—praying for?
As I sat down to write this, I found myself wondering how to even begin to describe my April—a month that brought me more joy than I could have imagined.
I can say that my May flowers are, without a doubt, my two new grandbabies who came into the world in April just two days apart—a boy and a girl. I had the privilege of witnessing the birth of my grandson—a first for me—alongside my daughter, her husband, my youngest daughter, and the midwives. I can’t think of a more precious gift I have received from the Lord.
Part of my hesitation in writing this is that the experience feels beyond words—full of awe, wonder, and mystery. And yet, it doesn’t feel right not to share it. I will be forever grateful to my daughter and her husband for allowing me to be part of such an intimate moment. To say it brought us closer feels like an understatement.
Before I had much time to take it all in, I was on a plane to be with my oldest daughter, her husband, and their almost two-year-old son. They had just welcomed a sweet baby girl—my first granddaughter—into their family. As you can imagine, there was a bit of chaos as they adjusted to a new normal. My husband and I were there to help in any way we could.
At one point, my daughter asked how I managed when we had four young children—a teenager, one in elementary school, and two under two. My immediate answer was that I didn’t remember many of the details.
But as I’ve reflected on that question, I’ve found a deeper answer.
First, we truly wanted a big family. Each of our children was deeply wanted and loved. I think we’re better able to handle challenges when they are tied to something we deeply desire, and building our family was a deep desire of my heart.
Second, we tried to take the long view. We had a vision of what we hoped our family would become. In the midst of the daily struggles, we held onto that vision. We believed that nothing of real value comes easily, so we committed to the work—and we prayed. A lot.
As I’ve sat with this, welcoming new life while remembering what it took to get there, I’ve realized something profound: I am now living that vision. I’m enjoying the fruits of those labors and God’s grace.
I remember the hard moments—the tears after an ugly scene with a child or a heated disagreement with my husband. In those times, I would turn to God in prayer and be reminded of that vision—my heart’s desire.
I wanted a strong, loving relationship with my husband and each of my children. I wanted to know and love my grandchildren. And now, I see those prayers continuing to be answered. This gives me the strength to believe in His light in any darkness.
But I also know that not everyone is in a season of “May flowers” right now.
If you find yourself in the middle of the showers—when the days feel long, the work feels heavy, or the answers don’t seem to come—I hope you won’t lose sight of the bigger picture. The long view matters. The seeds you’re tending, often quietly and without recognition, are not wasted.
Some of the most meaningful growth happens in seasons we would never choose.
Hold onto what you know to be true. Keep showing up. Keep loving. Keep praying, even when it feels like nothing is changing.
The flowers may not be visible yet—but that doesn’t mean they aren’t coming.
May you find the grace to trust your “April,” and the hope to believe in your “May.” May you trust God for the bloom.
