Once a year, for just one day, this cactus blooms.

The Easter cactus, prickly, resilient, is passed down like a secret and native to South America. It flowers for a moment. Intricate. Delicate.

Blink and you’ll miss it. But if you care for it. If you water it, if you let it soak in the sun, it will bloom.

It made me think about the work we do. The kind that can feel thorny. Hard. Unnoticed.

It reminded me that when we nourish and offer warmth to others, we nurture hope, community, possibility.

Then we bloom too. Not always at once. Not always loudly. But in our own time and in our own way.

This, I think, is our quiet revolution. A soft uprising that begins with care. That begins with us. The kind that reminds us that this is enough.

What’s one quiet metaphor that keeps you going?