Among the many flowers in the world, one I cherish most is the Western orchid. Whenever my husband and I visit patients in hospitals or make home visits, we often bring orchids— for within their quiet elegance lies a resilient life that offers lasting joy and wonder.

Just a few days ago, we visited Bobby’s home. He had been ill, and when his wife said they were still enjoying the orchid we brought back in February, I could hardly believe it— I had to see it with my own eyes.

There it was, by the bright living room window, its deep violet and pink petals still noble, still intact, greeting us without a trace of fading.

I looked at the couple and said, “You must have green thumbs!” half in praise, half in envy. After all, they say it takes three years just to learn how to water an orchid properly.

We have several orchids at home too, but once the flowers fall, they rarely bloom again. Even the one my husband loves most, placed in the church office, has not bloomed in years. So I placed a single silk flower in its pot.

Visitors often admire it, thinking it’s real. My husband waves his hands, insisting it’s not. And I, watering it weekly, still wonder, “Why won’t it bloom?”

What’s the difference between those who nurture orchids and enjoy their steady blossoms, and someone like me who loves them but cannot make them flower?

Recently, I discovered a hidden truth I had missed. Orchids need at least ten hours of bright light each day. Their roots must not sit in water— only a gentle rinse once a week. They need good airflow, regular nutrients, and pruning of old stems to prepare for new blooms. Watering alone is not enough.

And as I pondered this, I thought— isn’t growing the flower of faith much the same?

To grow in faith, my body and heart must dwell in light. When I find contentment in the bare essentials, happiness and beauty often appear nearby.

If I live today unbound and unhoarded, remembering that life will one day return to its true Owner— like the Jubilee of old— then I am free.

If I keep my heart open for honest connection, and seek the thoughts and intentions of the One who holds my life through reading and reflection, then that becomes my nourishment.

When I cut away the old branches of shame and sorrow, and rejoice in the new grace poured out today, buds of tomorrow will begin to form.

“Oh, orchids are so hard to grow,” I grumble again— but even today, they offer me a silent lesson.