The petunias in the hanging baskets were in need of watering, their leaves faintly curling on the edges. I filled the watering can, humming to myself. I gave each basket a good soaking, then used what water remained to top off the birdbath. The empty can gave a hollow thud when I sat it down on the potting table. I went and busied myself with deadheading the calendulas.
The birds at the feeder in front of me grew in numbers—talking to one another in their birdsong. I listened to the chirps and warbles, happy to hear them so full of God.
“You don’t sound hollow like my watering can, God. You’re certainly not empty.”
God chuckled. “I’m never empty, even though I constantly pour myself into my creation.”
“You’ll never run dry, will you.” It was a declaration, not a question.
“I’m never-ending,” He replied.
I closed my eyes and thought of God standing over all His Earth, watering can in hand, soaking everything with His love—love that will never run dry. “I’m grateful,” I said and I returned to snipping the spent blossoms, my heart and soul quenched.