I went out early this morning to water the plants in my yard and the potted ones in front of the house and on our patio.

The hose I use for this task isn’t optimal. It kinks sometimes and snags on every shrub and decorative rock in the yard. That is one reason I resist watering outdoor plants. That stubborn hose, and this awful heat.

I watered the rose bushes, the lilies, the spyreas, the hostas, and the newly placed slabs of grass Dan had put around the mailbox.

I unsnagged the hose at least 12 times and dragged it to water the petunias, coleus, and geraniums growing in big pots across the front of the house.

The clean, earthy scent of the geraniums always catches me off-guard and makes me stop and inhale deeply. They looked a bit bedraggled this morning because I had neglected watering them as I should have because of, you know, my kinky garden hose and the awful heat.

As I plucked off a spent blossom and stem, I thought I heard the plant clear its throat.

“What?” I asked, stooping down to its level.

“I’ve missed seeing you,” the fragile, white-flowered plant rasped.

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’ve neglected you a bit lately.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s been awfully hot. Even now, the sun is burning the back of my neck.”

“Tell me about it,” the plant said.

“Plus, I planted more flowers than usual this year, and watering them is time consuming. The roses are blooming right now, and they require lots of water.”

Nothing.

“You and the other geraniums are still my favorites though,” I said. “I even named my blog after you.”

“I know.”

“How do you know that?”

“I heard it through the grapevine,” it said, and laughed.

“Ha, ha.”

“Maybe you should plant fewer flowers. Then you would have more time for us geraniums, you know, your favorites.”

“Well, yes. But I love the other plants, too. Not as much I love you, of course.”

“Uh huh,” it said.

I stood, unwound the garden hose from the base of the rose of Sharon bush, righted the birdbath the hose had overturned, and cranked the cantankerous, green hose back around the metal wheel where it lives.

I went inside the house, cleaned up, drank about a gallon of water, and sat down with my Mornings with Jesus book, My Utmost for His Highest book, and my notebook for writing down new spiritual thoughts every day. I realized I was a couple of days behind in my study, but I dutifully read the May 30 passages, took a few notes, and began to pray.

“I’m sorry, God, that I’ve neglected my study a bit lately.”

“It’s okay,” I think He said.

“I’ve been really busy. We had the Memorial Day party on Monday. Plus, I’ve been working to get my family photos into albums, organizing things for the grandkids’ scrapbooks, taking care of my flowers and plants, doing some writing, and rereading A Separate Peace. It’s one of my favorite classic books.”

“I know all that,” He said.

“Oh, I forgot. Of course.”

Nothing.

“I have a lot of irons in the fire, so to speak,” I said.

I felt Him smile at me.

“But you are my number one priority.”

He hugged me.

“Uh huh,” He said.