A matter of perspective

This was written by Diem for a different project that she’s given permission to be reprinted here. A wonderful expression of how everything, even grace and compassion, must be considered from the perspective of the ultimate user. Once we put it out in the world, when we let it go, what happens to it is no longer under out control. It is there for all to use and consider. We may not like or agree with what they do with whatever it might be. How they satisfy their needs may not agree with our wants. But then, if everything in life was as we imagine it, think of all the beauty and excitement of life we would miss.

They were off to the side,

away from the fresh, vibrant blooms.

Twenty-six pots of carnations,

dull, drying at the edges,

waiting their demise in the dumpster.

Past their prime.

Unwanted.

Done—at least in someone else’s eyes.

As I passed by, I was made to stop.

I saw color in their leaves,

life in their stems—

and maybe… hope.

It felt like they whispered,

“We’re still here. Don’t give up on us just yet.”

So I didn’t.

I gathered them up—every one of them—

and brought them home.

Gently I planted them in the garden,

spaced them just right,

watered them well,

and whispered back,

“You still have time. You still matter.”

And they had, and they did, and they bloomed.

Not perfectly.

But enough.

Enough to brighten the morning.

Enough to remind me why I said yes.

Then last evening,

I stepped outside and found the stems bare.

The blooms—gone.

Every one of them eaten,

except the tall ones

that the rabbit couldn’t reach.

I froze.

I tried so hard

to give them a second chance.

And now… gone?

The rabbit paused,

looked at me,

then continued its feasting—

as if to thank me.

It wasn’t cruel.

It was hungry.

Doing what it needed to survive.

And in that quiet realization,

I saw something familiar.

How many times do we

give what we can, plant what we can,

knowing it may not last,

knowing it might go unnoticed,

but still hoping, hoping it will matter?

Maybe grace isn’t in the outcome.

Maybe it’s in the offering.

Maybe it’s not about what’s kept safe,

but what we’re willing to share—

even if it disappears before our eyes.

I didn’t expect the carnations to be eaten.

But maybe second chances

aren’t just for the flowers.

Maybe they’re for all of us.