My final joy tidbit is being on the lookout for the hidden handiwork of God.

We have new neighbors who moved to Portland from Arizona last year. They have gotten a speedy crash course of the Northwest's topsy-turvy weather patterns. One of the neighbors texted me recently to learn the names of the flowers she could see extending over our fence. 

Camellias.

Honestly, I hadn’t realized any of the trees in the backyard had started displaying blossoms yet. I had been enjoying my favorite white camellias, courtesy of one of the windows that flank the sides of our fireplace. 

Several days later, I had a brief conversation with our neighbor about the camellias, and I promised to bring her an assortment of flowers soon. I happened to glance over my shoulder towards the side of our house, the place where my favorite camellias grow, and was stunned not to see one blossom. There were buds, but not one flower was open to the world.

Once I returned to our home, I walked over to the living room window and took the above photo. The camera frame could only contain a small portion of the blossoms covering the back of the tree. We have lived in this house for a long time, and I have never witnessed the tree blooming only on the backside. 

The weather has been so warm this week that I knew it was time to take a bouquet to our dear neighbor before the rain and wind returned, creating a carpet of petals. The white camellia tree is fully blooming for all to see now. 

Could those hidden blooms have been for me?

Could it be that the blooms possessed added strength to open on the side that provided the most shelter from the harsh elements?

I spent a significant amount of time in the lazy boy chair below that window last spring.

Springtime was a blur.

I needed strength from so many elements.

I believe those blooms were God's handiwork, a gift for me to see and absorb, a reminder of how often I have been sheltered by the hand of a very loving and active God.

Maybe the pink camellias my neighbor spotted were to give her an added glimpse of this new, wonderful part of the country where she now resides.

I hadn’t noticed them.

Those flowers were for her.

Last Friday, while driving home from running errands, my window rolled down, and the sky saturated with blue. I made a familiar turn, and Mount Hood came into view, the most striking contrast of snow against the sky.

I said aloud, thank you, God, for letting me see this breathtakingly gorgeous mountain today.

That mountain was for me. 

I know that sentiment sounds completely self-absorbed.

The visual of seeing Mount Hood on that particular day was for everyone who witnessed the sight.

I happen to be numbered among these people.

Mount Hood on that day was for me, too.

Those tucked-away camellias were for me and continue to be viewed daily as a gift, a reminder of how God beckons us to pause long enough to be overtaken by his beauty, majesty, and grace. 

We have been given eyes to see, but do we entirely use our sight?

Be bold enough to believe God has set something before your eyes just for you, especially for you.

When and how has God sheltered you?

Do you need to ask God for shelter?

May you see God's handiwork anew.

Look for the hidden ways and the ones extravagantly painted across the sky.

Thank you for following along in my joy tidbit series.
This quote landed in my inbox at the perfect time, and a fitting way to end this post and week.

“Some people get addicted to chain-smoking their problems.
They spend all day going from sorrow to sorrow. It doesn’t have to be that way.
You can live each day going from joy to joy—like a sunflower that turns to face the sun as it moves across the sky. It’s not about having a problem-free life but about focusing on the light.
Sunflowers still have shadows, but they are always behind them. “

~James Clear