stromboli-stove

Good morning…

“I love love love today’s reading!” she wrote after yesterday’s post. “My Mom was named Rosemary and we lost her in Jan 2018. At her service we wore sprigs of Rosemary on our dresses/shirts! I guess my Aunt knew the significance as I did not. Just this last March we took her ashes to Wilmington NC where she was from and sprinkled some in the ocean and the sound.”

“How beautiful,” I replied. “I love knowing this connection. Sprigs of Rosemary, their spicy, sweet fragrance, keep alive the memory of your deeply-missed Mom. What a gorgeous aroma of new life springing from the grief of loss.”

“Sue,” she wrote this morning. “My mother was a cook & caterer and prior to her death she was working on a cookbook of family recipes passed down from generations. I passed along your morning devotion to my family and my Aunt would like to use your Remember Rosemary for the intro to her cookbook. If you are agreeable, might we get your permission?”

“I would LOVE this honor,” I wholeheartedly replied. “Please include it with my blessing and God’s contagious, unending love. May I use our email exchange anonymously so we offer a glimpse of how God so creatively blossoms joy in our sorrow?”

She called me to give permission and, never having met face-to-face, we uncovered all of the connections that live between us. She also shared the fact that at Rosemary’s funeral they played the 1970s song Love Grows Where Rosemary Goes. “Check it out,” she encouraged. So I googled the song and it made me grin ear-to-ear.

Now it’s your turn to join our creative collaboration, experiencing wholeheartedly God’s enduring truth: Love Grows Where Rosemary Goes.

Live creatively, friends (Galatians 6:1a).

…Sue…