Petals of Friendship

My Betty Crocker cookbook is a wreck. It was given to me as a bridal shower gift in 1979, and I have treasured it ever since. Over forty years later, it remains a prized possession. It has been my cooking guidebook, truly important when you’ve grown up feasting on a mainly southern Italian diet, (no complaints here) which included a lot of pasta and meatballs. Yes, our meals had variety, but gravy was simmering at my house just about every other day. The traditional, and now collectable Betty Crocker cookbook became my best friend in the kitchen. Today, it has all the signs of being used and maybe a little abused. The pages are weathered, written on, and stained. The covers are loose, no longer held in place by the familiar spiral binding. The only thing keeping it together is an oversized, stretchy band. I’ve collected other cookbooks over the years, but this one has been my go-to manual. In it, I discovered new recipes, tried making things I had never heard of, and was thrilled

I recently clipped a flowering branch off a tree in our yard.   I thought I could keep it blooming so that I could take a photo of it.   Within minutes, cut away from the branch and without water, it wilted.   The photo opportunity faded. The beauty of the branch was gone as the life it held evaporated.   And so, it is with us.   Can we truly live if we are cut off from the vine?   If we are separated from God, where do we go to get life?   Where do we go to stay alive?   To have breath and to live in the splendor and truth of how we’ve been created ?    The blooms on the branch looked radiant while attached to the tree.   The collective display was grand, a picture of its purpose.   It reflected beauty, grace and God’s glory in nature. Then I looked at the wilted branch I had collected and the flowers on it. They were dead. In Luke 24:1-7, we read about the women who went to Jesus’ tomb and when they arrived, found the tomb empty. … very early on Sunday morning t