Garden of Time: A Poem About the Mother-Daughter Relationship

The garden of life is ephemeral,
Growing through the loam of time.
As flowers bloom but for a moment,
Fleeting, although utterly sublime.

A mother groans with pain, then sighs,
As her babe utters her first breath.
Nurtures and tends to her every need,
Budding knowledge refined by wisdom's depth.

As years stretch, marching onward,
And ever only by God's abiding grace, 
The roles, once so clearly defined, suddenly reverse.
The now-elderly mother has taken her child's place.

The garden-tending falls to her daughter,
Who now must make decisions on her behalf.
Sometimes, the silent weight crushes her heart.
Other times, they still sit together and laugh.

A relationship cultivated with great care,
Blossomed with redolent bouquets.
The child, a woman, strong and secure:
A vessel shaped from her mother's days.

Whether life's season is long or short,
We must all one day answer death's call.
And sitting at the deathbed of one's mother,
Itself is one of the deepest griefs of all.

May the Heavenly Father embrace each mother,
Who instead, finds it the other way around:
May she find His arms tightly surround her,
As she lowers her child into the ground.

Surely, the garden would stop flourishing. 
Grief makes us feel that *all* of life is dead.
And yet, the garden keeps relentlessly growing,
sprouting new leaves and forging on ahead.

Oh, may we each grow in grace!
May we honor each other within God's call,
To love one another deeply and truly,
And to love *Him* most of all.

The garden must keep on producing.
Time will never cease to pass.
May the Lord's love bless and guide us,
From our first breath to our very last.

 

Bride of Christ

Upon the rock, Peter, Christ built His church (Mt 16:18)
And considered her His bride. (Rev 19:7)
This love He commanded be shown by men,
To the wife chosen to stand by their side. (Eph 5:25)

Soon, we see that the love of a mother,
That is shown tenderly to her children,
Was likened to that between the Apostle Paul,
And the churches which he ministered in. (1 Thess 2:7,8)

So the love and faith of a mother is generational:
Like that Paul spotted in the disciple Timothy.
Which faith he said was in grandmother Lois, mother Eunice,
"And I am pursuaded also is in thee." (2 Tim 1:5)

This love and faith in both Ruth and Naomi - 
Mother and daughter in law, is witnessed once again.
So this Bride of Christ, the church, blends us all in love,
And faith in *Him* is the truest eternal uniter of women and men. (Gal 3:28)

_____________________________________________

"And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it". 
(Matthew 16:18)

"Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave Himself for it;"
(Eph 5:25)

"Let us be glad and rejoice, and give honour to him: for the marriage of the Lamb is come, and his wife hath made herself ready."
(Rev 19:7)

"But we were gentle among you, even as a nurse cherisheth her children: so being affectionately desirous of you, we were willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us."
(1 Thess 2:7, 8)   *Paul referencing the churches as his children

"When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother Eunice; and I am persuaded that in thee also." 
(2 Tim 1:5)

"There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus." (Gal 3:28)

Wherever You Are in the World

Wherever you are in the world, 
In the quiet of my mind, I will find you.

Wherever you are in the world,
My heart is already with you.

Wherever you are in the world,
My love has gone on before you.

Wherever you are in the world, 
You are wrapped in my prayers.

Wherever you are in the world,
You'll have never spent a single moment unloved.

Wherever you are in the world,
My thoughts dance quietly around you.

Wherever you are in the world,
You are never too far from home.

Wherever you are in the world,
I am so proud of your very existence.

Wherever you are in the world,
You have my unwavering support.

Wherever you are in the world, 
Whispers of joy sneak through your heart.

Wherever you are in the world,
An unspoken welcome awaits.

Wherever you are in the world,
You have been sent on prayers for peace.

And when my last breath exits this world,
My spirit will split, and part of it will tuck away in your heart.

Wherever you are in the world,
I am where you are.

She Moved Away Today

Goodbye, My Heart. Be Safe Out There.

In life, there always comes a day so distinct in emotional impact that it becomes a core memory. To be honest, there are a great many of those, indeed. Today was one such event for my family.

    My eldest daughter moved away from home.

As a mother, I have pondered this exact day for a very long time. Since before she was born, actually. Especially having experienced loss, she was the much-coveted fruition of Hubs's and my hopes and dreams. We talked about her for years before she arrived. We prayed over her while she kicked into our hands as she grew within my body.

We are not the kind of parents who set a course of any sort for our children. We promised to give them away: with each daughter, we knew that we were raising an autonomous human being who would someday be an adult out in a very big, very scary world. We prioritized making sure Big Sis had a good head on her shoulders, confidence, and motivation. We encouraged her greatly and eagerly anticipated finding out who she should be. We do the same with her sister. 

As it happens, our eldest is a strong woman in spirit and heart. She is independent, fierce, capable, and yet also tenderhearted, gifted, and kind. She is everything we could possibly have hoped for and more.

Yes, this day was always going to come. 

I mistakenly thought that musing over it enough times the past twenty years would somehow equate to readiness. I stared into her baby face a million times, hoping to memorize those moments so I might carry them with me when she walked off into her bright future. By the time she was five, it was absolutely killing me. How would I ever be capable of staying behind when my heart split away from me and took on the world on her own? 

Over the years, each time I woke up in the morning to find that her face had transformed overnight or her limbs had lengthened again, I wrestled quietly inside myself. 

"Let her go. Be prepared to let her go. Prepare her, and then watch her walk away. You can do this. You will have to do this. Let her go."

Somewhere in there, I convinced my mind that I had done exactly that: prepared her and prepared myself.

But... she moved away today.

I woke up to her slamming doors and banging on things, moving the inventory of her life thus far into her car. I was ready... I was ready... but I wasn't that ready! Somehow, I thought we might ease into the morning. I would have time to wake and process my emotions before she would load the car. Waking up to her already loading was jarring. It felt so...

Sudden.

Final.

How are we here? My goodness, what is the rush? I flew to the restroom so fast that I do not remember going, and then into the hallway, where my eyes met the stricken gaze of my disheveled youngest. I recognized it, as if an image in the mirror: 

"She feels just like me."

Shocked. A little bit panicked. And mostly... 

Not ready.

She stammered out to me that she had stayed awake all night, afraid to miss being up to help her sister. Keeping her tears at bay, she put on her brave little game face and helped load the evidence of a life shared with us into the car. I moved exactly one box, then sat there with my camera up - covertly documenting this moment or that. Everything felt monumental. 

Hubs came home between his stops for work and held her in a father's embrace that had been almost twenty-one years in the making.

He held us all, in fact. His arms wrapping around us in a huddle, he called out to God in thanks for our daughter, for His grace in our lives, and for the woman she has become. He requested blessings, safety, stability, joy, and a good life ahead. He prayed for our someday-son: that special young man who has completed another piece of our hearts. He prayed for everything sitting in my soul and his, as parents who have loved, nurtured, and are supportive of our (formerly) little one as she makes her way into the world permanently.

It was precious. We needed that family hug, that prayer. 

So lovely, So Proud

Hubs slipped back off to work, and the girls and I spent our final moments together. Big Sis ate breakfast and chatted with us while she watched the clock tick closer to time. At twenty-to-ten o'clock, she stood in the doorway to her bedroom for a moment, collecting her memories. We went out into the garage, where her car was loaded in every possible inch of space. She stood there with the door open, taking in the neighborhood a final time as a resident of our home, while Baby Sis and I stood behind the car and watched. We were in active "hold it together" mode, giving her space and telling her we love her. I was simultaneously running a video to share with her dad, grandparents, and aunties. 

We waved, she waved. She drove down the driveway to us calling out our love. She waved again as she turned the corner onto the road, and then it was done. She was gone. My little Pie collapsed into my arms, and we wept our mixed emotions of sorrow and pride: hers into my shirt and mine into her hair. It was chilly, so I suggested that we go inside to cry where it was warm. We curled up in the recliner and cried and talked, soaking in this sacred grief. 

We had just spent the week checking from room to room while Big Sis was at work: slowly removing individual pieces of her life from ours and placing them on her bed. We went through the kitchen. Could she use this container? Is that her cup? Did we get her cereal? How about some wax paper and aluminum foil? Did I remember to get her some trash bags in both sizes? 

The past two nights had been spent with Hubs and me listening to our two girls working together to pack her up. It has been so precious and has stretched our hearts to the farthest degree. 

What a beautiful time of life this is! What an honor and a privilege it has been to cohabitate with this extraordinary human being. I am acutely aware that not everyone is so lucky to endure this kind of pain: certainly not everyone who sincerely deserves it. We have been so very blessed.

Little Sis sat in the empty bedroom with her ocarina and played through a few of her comfort songs: the plaintive notes an echo of her wincing heart. It was beautiful and sad. Later, when Hubs came home, he found our cat (who fancies himself *her* cat) sitting where her bed had been: the same bed he curled up in every day, and snuggled against her in so many nights. He wailed his lament in an extended meow that was more of a howl. 

In the afternoon, my dear girl sent us photos and even did a video call so she could take us on a virtual tour of her apartment. It is just perfect and suits her so well. We smiled as she reveled in having a big bedroom, finally! My heart nearly burst as she showed us how she carefully stashed her items in closets, cupboards, and drawers; then all over again when she showed off her first-ever groceries, all nicely put away. She is really doing it. :)

Today has been emotional and heavy. It has been that painfully beautiful culmination of love and child-rearing completed. It is one of those days when a parent is simultaneously most proud and most vulnerable. I would not have changed it for anything. 

My little one and I are having trouble going to bed without her. We are both wide awake. The house feels too empty - too quiet. I only just sent her off to bed at half past midnight. There has been much cuddling here today. She had a youth meeting spanning several hours earlier tonight, for which I am grateful. When I finish these admittedly too-long words, I will go check on her again one last time. She misses her big sister. It is not lost on me how Big Sis was an only child for seven years, and now Little Sis is going to have a version of that experience as well. We doubtless have a period of adjustment ahead.

Goodnight, Sweet Girl

Tomorrow, our sweet girl returns long enough to take her final loads of belongings to her new home. This time, we are able to help her and will get to see her place with our own eyes. Tomorrow is brighter because she is once again back in it. 

Tonight... well, I will keep on being grateful. I will keep on being proud. 

And I will keep vigil, lest she should need me in the middle of the night. 

Mother of the Bride/For ReBecka

My gaze caressed cherubic pink cheeks,
As you nursed upon my breast. 
Long eyelashes closed in feathery smiles:
Your breakfast quickly becoming your rest.

My heart swelled with pride and with pain.
My mind slipped off into the distant future.
Where would your wee steps take you? 
To whom would you promise your forever? 

A mother's heart throbs with love,
But it also beats in quiet loneliness. 
For we know how short a time, 
You will be here, in our daily lives, to bless.

An infant, mere months. 
A child, a very few years.
A teen, only a moment and,
Like that, adulthood is here. 

What an honor to have raised you:
My parental satisfaction is complete. 
What a pleasure to watch you take on the world:
A gratification that is oh, so bittersweet.

You turned eighteen and graduated from school,
An adult at first only in name. 
Strong, intelligent, dedicated, and determined,
You conquered college; started your career the same.

One day, it happened almost unexpectedly:
A young man had swept you off your feet. 
This felt different in my soul and yours: 
I was eager, your young man, to meet.

He stepped into our home one Sunday,
And just as swiftly, tapped upon my heart.
We could tell that he was someone rare:
We knew he was special from the very start. 

We continue to watch your burgeoning romance,
Offering our encouragement and praise.
All the while, as we have always lifted you,
Him too, our hearts in prayer now raise. 

"Lord, make him kind and good to her.
Let him treat her gently in every way.
Help him to be wise, true, and diligent.
Cause him to grow in You, we pray." 

The more we got to know this man,
The more we liked him, and then...
The feeling I had when I gave birth to you,
Suddenly showed up one day - for him.

My heart swelled, stuttered, and gave a tight squeeze.
Tears sprang immediately into my eyes.
He was no longer just a young man, but my son.
I have become a heart mother to this guy!

"Lord, thank you for your promise kept:
That you would keep my daughter safe and sound.
Thank you for bringing us our very first son:
Bless them and allow good fortune to abound. 

As I move into the season where my gaze,
Now rests not on a babe, but a bride,
I beg you to knit them together as one.
Let their trust in You securely abide. 

I have witnessed your hand on her life,
From the day she first came onto this earth.
I have witnessed her sorrows, struggles, and pain.
I have witnessed her growth, her faith, her mirth. 

As they unite their hearts more every day,
And now as they set up a joint life, 
I beg you, protect them from harm, of course,
And help her as she becomes a wife. 

Bless her with patience and an open heart:
Bless double the same for him. 
Help them to be both leader and help-meet,
As their lives interweave and blend. 

Give him strength that is gentle but firm. 
Give her as much of the same. 
Fill their home with love and laughter. 
Speak goodness over them by name. 

Make the way easy, though imperfect. 
When they slip, help them not to fall. 
Let them cling to one another for everything:
Help them to look to You most of all."

The prayers I prayed over my developing babe,
When she grew quietly, steadily within my womb,
Are all now coming to fruition more each day:
As the flower of her life continues to bloom.

"Mother of the bride" is what they'll call me, 
And the phrase conjures visions of dresses and cake. 
But for me, it brings up prayers and reminiscences: 
I know the happiness of their future is at stake.  

I have a mental eye on the baby I once held,
And another on her own upcoming family.
The precious infant who almost didn't survive,
Now a bride with a future full of possibilities. 

I am so proud of my daughter, my new son!
I am so eager for the day they finally wed.
May God be gracious every breath, every moment. 
As He guides and protects their path ahead. 

Mother of the bride is a quieter role,
This is the time of life when I slip out of sight.
But I carry in my heart memories she will never recall,
And I still pray for them every day and night.

As I step back into this watchful invisibility,
My heart settles into a lonely but sacred place,
I cling harder to my husband and our Lord,
And entreat him silently for His grace.

There are such deep emotions here
Swelling inside my chest, fit to burst.
But gratitude for the miracle God granted us,
Is the strongest and is always the first. 

I love you, my angel,

~Mom <3

The Butterfly in the Garden

It has only been thirteen months since my mom died. 

Last year, when I asked her what she wanted to make us think of her out in this world, she said that it is very personal/individual, but that she always liked butterflies and hummingbirds. This made sense in more ways than one: she and my dad had lived on Hummingbird Lane, so those were already special in some way since he died in 2017. Furthermore, for the year and a half that my mom lived here with my little family, we spent many hours in the garden watching butterflies flit through.

              The love of gardening flows through every molecule of my DNA. My parents raised my sisters and I tending rich gardens full of all manner of produce. Truth be told, I see the gardens of my childhood in my dreams to this day. My grandfathers did the same: both tending gardens as far back as I could remember. The final summer before my dad died was spent with him stopping by to walk the short distance around the little L-shaped garden in my backyard, dispensing tips, advice, and encouragement. I only had eight straw bales that year, I think, but it was “huge” for my little family and I. We only did four bales each the two previous years, and just a pot or two of tomatoes on the patio before that. I was *so* proud to be growing a variety of vegetables, fruits, and tomatoes and to send him home with lots of goodies for him and mom to share. That garden became symbolic of my personal connection with my dad.

              That’s why I threw myself wholeheartedly into the garden of 2018. I planted the seeds on his death date with my mom and daughters. They sprouted on the day we brought his ashes home. (He had gifted his entire anatomical donation to research/medical education, so his body was out in the world for another year past his death.) With my mom living with us, she and I spent *so* many hours together out on the patio and in the yard. Gardening, my connection primarily with my dad, was now deeply intertwined with my mom and with our individual yet shared grief journeys.

              My mom died last year in peak garden season. The day she died, I cried and cried out in the garden. The morning after, I died. I couldn’t fathom taking care of it the rest of the year. It was so big that I couldn’t tear it all down, even when the timing was appropriate. It took me (alone) around half a dozen tries to thin it out, and even more with my husband and daughter. I remember by the end; all I wanted to do was rip it down.

              When this spring showed up, I had no desire to return to gardening. I had spent the winter months receiving lovely comments from friends and family that they couldn’t wait to see my garden: my garden was always a source of interest and joy. I was so touched, very sincerely, by that. I tried to explain that my heart was not in it this year. At most, I could only talk about attempting a much smaller garden – if any. When the time came, I was so lost in grief and felt so dead inside. The grief journey following the loss of both parents has been rife with complicated decisions and other factors. In the end, it came down to wanting a BLT made with fresh tomatoes and, primarily, not wanting to let down the friends who were looking forward to seeing the next garden season. I’ve never planted a peer-pressure garden before, but even my closest friends seemed to feel that doing the garden anyway would honor my parents and make me feel better. I had one dear friend who I felt really ‘got it’ and I appreciated that *so* much.

              I decided I would get even fewer straw bales than I had been. Two years ago, I had twenty-five bales. Last year there were sixteen. This year, only ten. One of those ended up not joining the garden, thanks to a local pair of ducks and their abandoned egg. That’s another story for a different day. <3 I decided to focus as much as possible on flowers. I was desperate to get those butterflies and hummingbirds around so I could see my mom again – feel her here in my home and in my yard. (Disclaimer, I know they would not be “her”. That is not going to stop me from saying things this way. Get over it.)

              I planted flower bulbs, Chris and the girls bought me loads of lovely flowers for Mother’s Day, and we waited. I decided to buy plants from the farmer’s market rather than grow any, then changed my mind at the last minute and started a paltry few seeds in pods. I was terribly late in the season: late enough for it to almost not even matter. Even so, my precious Christopher dutifully set up the bales. He and Ninna worked together over the course of two weeks to condition the bales, then both did the bulk of the planting. Through it all, I felt depressed, stressed, heavy, and trapped in the “new grief” stage.

              Despite my lack of enthusiasm, my depression, despite my daughter hitting her new teenage phase and excusing herself from gardening, despite inconsistent watering, and an overall wish that I did not even have a garden – it grew. The garden grew, the flowers grew, the spring turned into summer, and everything began to produce. We got to share the fruits of our labor with just two precious friends this year and, in that sharing, I found some peace. It is a joy to give, but now it was also very comforting. <3 Best of all, they showed up: more bees than we have had in a very long time, two female hummingbirds, and butterflies: my, we’ve had so many lovely butterflies.

              They came in all sizes and colors, the butterflies. Every species that has ever graced my yard in the past fifteen years came by to flit around and sip from flower after flower. Each one warmed my soul and brought me peace.

    We hung a hummingbird feeder on the bedroom window, so I could watch for “her”. She showed up with increasing frequency, sometimes bringing a friend with her. She would show up with an empty stomach and eat until she was as fat as a plump grape. We hung a second feeder out in the garden in the archway. (Pictured above) Many times, they would come buzz right near my head to examine me before going off to eat. My hair was still cherry red, and it was important for the wee hummingbirds to assess whether or not I was a flower. lol

Google Image: Website cited below

     “She” came in the butterflies, and I would call out, “Hi, Mom!” every time one flitted near me.
But I assigned to her name to her very favorite: a female swallowtail that was such a deep black with lovely crystal blue accents on her skirt. I knew it was her because she flew into and around inside my lilac bush in front of my bedroom window. I have spent the past two or three weeks reveling in her appearance: delighting in her antics among the bush and the flowers. She made my heart lighter every time I saw her. In all this time, I forgot something very important: she will die. Rather, I knew she would die, but I forgot that it may be possible for me to witness the end of her life. She hung around so much that I should have realized this.

               This past weekend was the end of everything. I could not physically bring myself to put effort into the garden any longer. My mom was dead. My dog died. My duck died. We were in a drought and yet water is at a premium right now: we’ve had to use it sparingly. I can’t make up for a drought. I had done my duty: I grew the garden. I made the customary vegetable pizza and BLT (albeit a truly different kind of task this year, since my top teeth have all been removed). It was time. I was ready. The garden that I had thrown myself wholeheartedly into when dad died - and which had sustained me – only served to worsen my grief and deepen my depression after my mom died. I couldn’t take it anymore. And so, I told Chris we would be ripping it all out this past Saturday.

              We woke early that morning, choosing again not to bring anyone but our dog outside with us. The day would superheat again, so we needed to work early and fast. It felt sincerely good out there in the coolness of the morning. I found adrenaline that I’ve been lacking all year, so eager was I to take it all down. I brought my phone and played the Instrumental Hymns and Worship Radio station on Pandora for us to listen to. The music flowed gently, naturally – soothing my soul. My heart was lighter, my mood joyful when it began to play softly in piano solo: “Because He Lives”. In an instant, I was a child in my bed upstairs. Downstairs, the piano began to thrum. My mom. She did not play often, and she usually kept to the same few songs, but we would occasionally get that rare and unique chance to listen to her play her heart out on the piano. It was beautiful.

              I began to cry. No, I began to sob. Big, deep pangs of grief-stricken pain that had throttled me and affected my breathing were now being towed from my chest as one might haul heavy chains backward repeatedly, drawing them from the sea, as the beautiful song played over the radio ap on my phone. I lamented my regrets into Chris’s shirt as he held me: all yard work suddenly paused. This is how it is with grief, of course. One holds it in as best possible while it wells until some seemingly small thing overfills the glass and it all spills out. Like always, he held me as long as it took. I cried, I snotted, and then I pulled myself together not long after the song ended. Somehow or another, my grief did not ruin the morning. The garden was the right place for it, after all. Here where my dead parents simultaneously blessed and haunted my memory, it was fitting to remember her and them and us and all we had shared. This was where my grief belonged, and so I watered the garden a final time with my tears and then resumed the work of pulling it down.

We were nearly done when we saw her: this big, beautiful butterfly. I thought she might be the Black Swallowtail female. The Linda butterfly counterpart to my little Linda hummingbird. She floated gracefully across my neighbor’s yard and then ours, dipping and swirling into and out of tight loops and wider arcs. While she was still in Debra’s yard, I told her, “Come see me!” She immediately flew directly at and then over me. My mirth overflowed into laugher, Chris chuckling with me at her “obedience”.

              She danced around a bit and then landed in front of us. I pulled out my camera, eager for pictures and videos. Autum was imminent, after all. Butterflies don’t last forever. In the fresh morning sunlight, I realized that she was brown. This was a big, brown butterfly. It didn’t make sense. My eyesight isn’t what it was, and I asked aloud, “Who is she?” She took back to wing, swirled around the two yards again a bit, and came back to land on the final remaining tomato plant we had left at the back of the yard. I quickly snapped pictures, zooming in so I could see her.

              My heart broke in an instant. This *was*, indeed her. The beautiful, big, graceful Linda butterfly that had been delighting me in the yard every day. She was brown now, as the soft black velvet began to shed from her wings. Wings which, once so perfect and lovely, were now tattered and ratty along the edges. Crestfallen, I realized that awful truth: not that she would die, but that *watching* her die was a very real possibility. Images of my mom in her final hospital room intruded, sharpening the moment. Everything dies.

              We got back to work after she flew off, my mood somewhat dampened.  The Lord knows all things, of course, and He so often uses music in ministry to His children. One of my two favorite hymns came on: “In the Garden”. We laughed again, Chris and I. He did so much work, moving here and there and rearranging flowerpots as I turned my attention to deadheading. I did my best to nip off dying leaves, but end-of-season flowerpots always look a bit sparse and tired. He arranged them around our little Coco’s resting place. She deserves flowers, bless her little heart. I trimmed the rose bush back, as well, freeing up the little fence that surrounded my lilac to be used elsewhere. Chris positioned the doghouse to one side of it, and I a little board to the other. Once we had finished as much busy work as we could, we decided that it was officially “too hot” and now time to go inside.

That afternoon it rained.

And I mean it really rained. Thunder made an appearance first, growling here and there like a child with a tantrum. I couldn’t believe my ears. We hadn’t had rain in only too long. Plus, the sky was still bright.  Skeptical, I kept my eyes on the windows. Within an hour or so, thunder turned to rain. Doesn’t that beat all? lol Here we here in a drought and the bales of the garden could accurately be described as dry and crispy for lack of attention and water. We pull the garden down and *now* it rains? I had to laugh.

              Today is Monday. It sprinkled a drop or two on Sunday, and today it literally rained all day long. All day! It hit me at some point that I couldn’t be upset even if I wanted to (I did not) because in my gardening-resistant grief process this year, I had hit the point where I had quit praying for rain: truly, I hadn’t even thought to do that in quite a while. Now I really had to laugh! lol

              I understand that I have written a novel by now: five pages on Word. I did not mean to do that. My intention was to write a single page on which I could neatly fit pictures of what the black swallowtail should have looked like (from Google, since I had not caught her on my camera before this – choosing to simply enjoy her presence) and how she looked at the end of her life in the end of this painful gardening season. I feel like there are parallels to the process of losing my mom last year and then losing her all over again this year when I couldn’t even muster up the joy we shared in the garden: only the grief we had shared there.

Oddly enough, I do not intend to sound so morose in this post. I know people don’t like it when we openly share just how hurt we really are.  There is still this expectation that Christians should be finding the silver lining at every moment of every day. I’m not trying to sound like a sad sack. Rather, I’m being open about my grief process precisely because it *is* so lonely. Everyone who loves you wants you not to hurt anymore, and so the pain can be somewhat isolating. As with the good, there are moments – heavy moments. Here in my blog, I am giving space to those.

And, while it sounds sad to have seen the butterfly in her dying state, it in some way neatly pins shut the entire season. While I am not yet to the point with my mom (or dad) where I can simply be glad I had them and not feel their losses so utterly deeply, I *can* choose - and am choosing - to be grateful that I had the butterfly to delight me while she was alive this season.  Somehow or another, that gives me hope.

Black Swallowtail Butterfly link from the Google image result shared above.

2024 Summary

 2024 did not see further updates or even a seasonal wrap-up online about my garden. I honestly cannot tell you how many tomato varieties we ended up with, This is understandable, as my mom's cancer thundered in and swept her right out from under us. The rest of my time in the garden was largely spent pondering the freight train that had blown through my life. Worse, as the garden season waned I was in the midst of grief and in no mental state to keep watching living things die around me. We took it down in stages: thrice I went out there by myself and just ripped and hacked away mercilessly at the long, vining plants. One weekend, we set our minds to finish and brought it to the ground in seventeen massive lawn trash bags. 

I remember that we had lemon squash until I became impatient with it growing all over my patio and tore it down somewhere mid-season. I was nonetheless pleased that squash bugs did not get it. My tatume squash left to hang until they yellowed came out looking like pumpkins, just as I had hoped. My little Koala's actual pumpkins stayed small but were a fun and welcome addition to the Candy Day festivities. She carved her own home-grown pumpkin this year, which felt great. 

We made a point of going to the zoo as often as we could swing the money to rent me a scooter. I was beyond caring what people think of a big mama on a scooter. I needed out and my back cannot manage walking without seizing up. The aquarium at the zoo especially became my place of comfort. Grief turned to relief every time I could sit quietly watching the fish in the largest tank. Family time with my husband and kids infuses my very being with relaxation and comfort I cannot find elsewhere. 

We took advantage of trips running the work truck back and forth to the warehouse to listen to good music and grab Pie a little treat here or there. My big girl was in a better headspace, as she continued to grow into her adult infancy. Having her around on her days off has been an immense pleasure. 

We celebrated the upcoming Christmas season by doing whatever we felt, at the time. Shopping became a coping mechanism; one I will be paying off for quite a while. Yikes. Even so, it felt good to bring gifts into the house and plan for the girls' merriment. 

Seasonal depression showed up, of course, but was kind of hard to discern from the natural depression grief brings along. I've struggled less in some ways and more in others. 

Here we are, already in March of 2025. I realized today that I will be expected to write about my garden plans soon. Fair enough. Just know that they have been reduced in size to accommodate my grief and hopefully boost my mental wellness.

The Other Side of the Guilt Trip

 When you lived with us, it nearly broke my sweet little family. Nobody had peace. We were walking on eggshells and living in a state of panic. It was hard and ugly to be trapped in the narcissistic merry-go-round of pitting people against each other that I left when I married. I did not know how to survive, and once it was clear that you were impacting my children the way you impacted us, it was immediately untenable. I could never separate from you for my own sake, but I could for theirs.

Worse, reaching my breaking point and asking you to move out betrayed my promise to him to take care of you and to protect you. I needed you out of my house, but not gone-gone. Oh, how I've wished you still lived in my town by the end of your life. I used to say that you deserved the child you were left with, the two of you are so alike. Instead, I was fully horrified that you were stuck without having someone close by who genuinely loves and cares for you. This will always be my most painful regret. The rest of us could not make up for from a distance what was not being provided in person. By the time we tried to get you away, it was too late. You died too quickly. For the second time in my life, the greatest kindness I could do for someone I loved was to pray that they would die quickly. I hate that I know how that feels, and what a relief it is when someone's suffering comes to an end. 

Back to your move so far away. It took me some time and space, you remember, to come back around to a place where I could speak to you again: speak without the hurt, the rage, and the utter shock of having come to terms with who you are as a person. It raked at my heart and I couldn't understand the way that you could be so effusively friendly and loving to some, and so heinous and manipulative (always behind the scenes) with your own children. 

Over the years, that is exactly what happened: I finally understood who you were, and why you were that way. I could appreciate the difficult life circumstances that brought you to this personality. I even empathize with the life you've led. It was almost like returning to the child and young adult you raised me to be - the defender, who took on anyone who dared face against you, but with the important caveat that I now realized you were not the perpetual victim you purported to be. I could accept your personality and your inability to change it, laid down and held boundaries for the first time in my entire life. Oh, how I thank God that we had the time we needed to come to a place of mutual love and understanding with one another!

I would see posts shared on social media by others (and, of course, by you) guilt/shaming the reader about difficult relationships. 

"You will miss them when they die." 

"You will regret not taking the time to make things right."

These posts always gave me a slight pang: I knew they were likely true. I couldn't reconcile within myself how a person can simultaneously protect themselves and also offer an all-in relationship with someone who causes them ongoing harm. 

I am on the other side of those guilt trips now. 

I understand the truth of how I can miss and love a complicated being, mingled with the regrets I have about our relationship. I miss you every minute of every day, even while being able to acknowledge that you were secretly a very tough and brutal person behind the scenes to your children. I can cry over the memories of our good times. I regret with burning sadness the way you felt alone. Indeed, I regretted that while you still lived, and this is exactly why I tried to maintain a healthier contact with you. We see the advice all the time to cut off all contact with a narcissist, and that is valid advice. In my heart of hearts, I never could follow it. 

But I know something else, too. Forgiveness, for one. I forgave you long ago (that helped with the acceptance), but now I have to forgive myself - repeatedly. I smooth over my hurts and regrets by telling myself that it is okay to love a complicated person in the best way you know how. 

I always thought before you died that perhaps these guilt-trip posts were unfair to injured parties. What about those people who cannot reconcile with the complicated people in their lives? 

I have nothing but grace for them. 

I could never, would never, tell a person that they have to reconcile just because somebody will die someday. Life *is* short - painfully so. That is, in fact, why I believe so strongly that the people who are holding themselves away from dangerous or harmful relationships are doing the right thing by themselves. It is not always up to us whether or not we get to reconcile every relationship. Indeed, sometimes only space can give a person the mental clarity they need to heal. 

I think about your dad and how, after he died, you felt sad but ultimately free. You told us that you and he were squared away now: there were no wrongs left between you. I was confused by and yet admired that outlook at the time. 

I can still appreciate that outlook today. I am in the process of releasing unhealthy relationships, myself. Not out of anger, bitterness, or spite but with the exact opposite intention. I do not want to be in constant turmoil, and I also do not want the 'unhealed' version of myself to cause permanent damage. Stepping back is not stepping away, but when contact is too much to bear... must I really?

This is new for me, and hard, but the instant peace and stillness in my mind and heart have taught me a lesson. I was hurting far more than I even realized, though I felt well-aware. 

I hope that the Lord is gracious to us, as we strive to love and forgive in ways that do not perpetuate harm. Healing happens faster when a wound isn't still festering. I wholeheartedly believe this. 

I'm so very sorry, Mom. I wish that I had found a way to be more helpful to you as you suffered those final months of your life. I wish you had found a job and apartment to suit you nearby so that we didn't have the intense stretch of miles between us once we reached our equilibrium. 

We are at peace, you and I, but I shall continue to miss you tremendously. You weren't a perfect parent, but you were my parent, and I ultimately respected that fact. I pray you have the peace up there you never quite found down here. <3

"Playing the Victim"

I have been reading a lot about people who have come out of abusive religious situations. I believe it needs to be repeated that people recovering from toxic ideals that were enforced as religious mandates are *not* being "victims" when they are openly honest about the abuse they've suffered. Rather, they are victors who now stand strong enough to call out wrong.

Many in my generation were raised under a veil of silence. "Don't harm the church. Don't harm the 'man of God'. God didn't harm you: people harmed you. Do NOT talk about it or you will harm the good people who are left. You are hurting God if you are honest about abuse in His churches!"

I have said it before, calling out sin and crime in the church is the *only* way Christianity has even a modicum of hope to regain any decency. This continuing onslaught of gossip and condemnation spewing out against people who dare to leave only demonstrates the deepening need for purging in God's houses.

A church that has to work to earn back a good reputation after outing a bad person has a head start if they are open and honest. A church that hides the deeds of a disgusting human being - or worse, a criminal - under the guise of 'forgiveness' becomes an accomplice.

Do not mistake God's forgiveness for the necessary justice required by law.

If a person has committed fraud, embezzlement, or some kind of immorality (against children or other adults, for example), they must be held accountable by the legal standards of the day. God may forgive the soul, but He is also very clear about following the law.

Church members who vilify those who have left their denomination or even just their specific church building only further prove the toxic nature that made leaving necessary. I have witnessed time and again the way people are ripped to shreds. I have seen gossip spread and cause tremendous damage. Shoot, we were the target of this, ourselves. I do not speak this out of hurt feelings. Any feelings I have on the matter are long gone. All that remains is a passion to see people in similar situations freed and supported.

All of this is done in the guise of the 'righteous' discussing the 'fallen'. It is vicious and ugly. Make no mistake, it is sinful. When the church no longer matches God's plan for His people, it is *not* the place to find spiritual growth.

If you've found yourself leaving a denomination and under fire by the 'good' people, please remember that they do not speak for God. Whether or not they can see that you are running towards Him, not away from Him, doesn't matter. Compassionate children of the Almighty would not behave this way. It is better to find a fold of flawed sheep than to forever remain in a den of wolves in sheep's clothing.

Empty Shoes/One Month

At five in the morning, the house is always perfectly still. Yesterday, I was in the dark browsing my phone before beginning a busy day. Out of nowhere, it hit: the mental image of your house shoes, sitting empty. I pictured them as I had last seen them, in the hospital by your bed.

"All of her little shoes are now empty."

The thought sucked the breath out of me and grief thudded its crushing weight on my chest like a herd of elephants. My gosh, you're so very gone! 

I was so afraid your shoes had been left behind when you died, but they haven't. Big Sis has them. I asked her for this lovely photo and she graciously obliged. This image will replace the sadder one in my memory of the hospital the day we said goodbye. I am so grateful to you and  Dad for starting our family with such a quality person. I have found myself hanging onto her for dear life.

We went to the orchard today, my little family of four. You know the one: *our* orchard. The one you, Dad, Jim, Karen, Baby Sis, and I first went to one happy afternoon in 2001. On the ride down today, it struck me that only Baby Sis and I are left alive from our original group. That joyous afternoon blossomed into our annual pilgrimages to document the girls' growth in the chestnut trees.

I am heartsick that we have been without you for an entire month already. It is such a sad occasion to mark on such a special and precious day, but that is life, isn't it? It is death itself that makes the lives we have so incredibly dear. The memories we are making with our children were born in traditions started with you and Dad. How fleeting are these moments! 

So today I celebrate my children and the ways they have grown, inside and out even as today I grieve for you, for Dad, and for the years I feel somewhat cheated out of. 

Every thought, sad or happy, brings me back to the Savior and the overwhelming sense that He is good. 

Thank you, Lord, for giving me the parents I had. Thank you for the time we spent together creating the memories that will have to sustain us. I am so grateful that Dad and Mom are up there celebrating with joyful abandon in the most precious of places. Comfort us as we hold them here in our hearts. Help us to create and carry forward their legacy of loving and serving you. Answer the prayers spoken by lips that no longer utter, and also those we who remain speak over our own children. In your holy name, I pray. Amen.

Untethered

I am wrapping up another year of my life. That isn't something I usually care too much about. In fact, I have a rather disheartening history of bad birthdays. No matter. 

This is the first one I'm facing without any parents left walking this earth.

For whatever reason, I'm finding that increasingly intolerable. By this morning, I'm completely devastated. I can't seem to quit crying. I thought it was horrible after my dad died: unbearable, really, to hear my mom singing "Happy Birthday" all by herself on the other end of the phone. 

This is worse.

As I sit here mulling this over in the silence of my empty house, my mother is a small pile of ashes in the back room of a morgue 450 some-odd miles away. 

Gosh, that's bleak. 

I know.

I know, and I am 100% *not okay*.

So, now what?

Linda K. Pringle

Linda K. Pringle (65) of Oakland, MD was joyfully welcomed into eternity by her Heavenly Father and her beloved husband early on August 7^th, 2024 at the Garrett Regional Medical Center in Oakland, MD.

At the time of her passing, Linda was a substitute teacher at Southern Garrett High School, especially for the Stars Class. She often spoke with affection about her coworkers and her time there.

Linda was born to Donald and Edith Borst in 1958 and grew up in Hammond, IN, graduating from the Hammond Baptist High School in 1976. She attended college in Florida, where she met the love of her life – Richard W. Pringle. They were married in August of 1979 and spent much of their lives together as pastor and wife from 1986 until Richard’s passing in 2017. She served faithfully with him at Ashland Baptist Temple (Ashland, OH), Union Valley Baptist Church (Belle Union, IN), and Frankton Bible Baptist Church (Frankton, IN). During her years in the ministry, Linda reached the lives of many children and people of all ages. She had active friendships around the states and across the world.

Left to cherish her memory are her four daughters Elisabeth (Nathaniel) Wisor, Lynn (Christopher) Wells, Rebecca (Jacob) Riffe, and Sarah (Timothy) Reed, seventeen grandchildren, and one great-granddaughter. She was preceded in death by her father, mother, older sister, husband, and several grandchildren. She is survived by her three younger siblings including her cherished baby sister, Diana.

Linda loved to spend time with her fellow residents at the Liberty Square Apartments, several of whom became her close friends. 

She is best remembered by her daughters for the special flair she brought to each holiday occasion, the peals of laughter shared over the silliest things and the way she was always there on the other end of the line for countless phone calls. She was serenaded a final time by all four girls in the hours leading up to her passing. Each has expressed gratitude that the Lord has shown such grace and mercy during this difficult time. They are also incredibly proud of her selfless anatomical donation lovingly made through Infinite Legacy.

Linda was a very private person who asked not to be memorialized with a public service. 

Feel free to express your condolences to her children or in the comments below. All notes will be read and cherished. *You can click on the preselected 'anonymous' for a drop-down menu that will allow you to enter your name and continue the comment as yourself.*

We Are Losing Her, Too

 I had intrusive thoughts. I often do, but I had little breakthrough nudges that seemed so stupid.

I sat on my patio watching the garden and mulling over my mom's upcoming summer visit. She hoped to stop by for at least a week in July - maybe August. Her gallbladder was hurting: a lot. Aching *so* badly. It unsettled me: reminded me of my three month saga from hell. 

"Go get it checked out, Mom."

"They said the bloodwork is fine, but it just really hurts so that I can hardly breathe."

And so when I sat on my back patio watching the garden, any time I was alone - really alone, the intrusive thoughts started. What if... what if?

"Is this her year?" I asked God.

He knew what I was asking. 2017 was my dad's year. 

I chided myself for being overly worried. After all, I was likely projecting my own medical trauma worries onto her.

"Please go get scanned, Mom. Don't let your doctor off the hook." I pleaded.

"Yeah... but the blood tests..."

It didn't seem to matter how much I pushed. This went on for about three weeks. Finally, FINALLY, she found someone to listen to: her sister reminded her that their older sister had lethal cancers that began as unexplained pain in her side. Mom *finally* called the doctor. They couldn't get her in Monday, but they would Friday. 

Friday came and the kind NP at the doctor's office got her in for a scan straight away. But they didn't call her with the results: they called my sister. She called the rest of us. Pancreatic cancer, metastatic to a lesion on the liver and spots in her lungs. 

Oh, my gosh. *This* is why the pain left her breathless. Her lungs also had cancer. 

The bomb went off June 28th and the world has never been the same. 

Never, like we are so far in the future. 

It has been just about three weeks since 'the big day', and Mom has already been hospitalized for five days, has had a total of four CT scans (counting the original), one MRI, and one PET scan. 

This is all so surreal, so unfair. 

On the same token, I have friends who just lost their parents within the same set of months. I cringe with guilt, thinking that I cannot/shouldn't say that seven years is 'too close together'. Even so, both parents are dying in their 60's. That seems too young and this all feels too fast. 

I have such a vacillating sense of what I should and should not feel. I am trying to make space for all of it. 

I am rambling again. Losing parents does that to me. I ramble, or I am left speechless. 

Why did those nudges come to me in the garden? Why can I feel things ahead of time if I cannot change them?

"Is this her year?"

Yes. 

It is her year and now we are losing her, too.

Eight Father's Days Without You

Christians have hope of seeing one another again in the afterlife. Any person of any faith that includes that element does, in fact.

This is not about that.

This post is about the reality of this world as we know it. 

You are missing from us right here in the present where we can't see you. Your arms that existed on this earth will never hold us again. Any time I need your advice, I cannot call you to get it. I don't get to hear your laughter or beautiful voice booming in song. 

I don't get to watch your face light up as you look upon your grandchildren. Their memories of you stop at young ages: for my youngest, at just four years old. That is not enough time to remember you the way she deserves to. Six of your grandchildren have become adults since you died. Six, and the other eleven right behind. You have a great-grandchild we are all so proud of, who will never know her Papa.

It has been seven full years but this is our eighth Father's Day holiday without you, and it feels like you've been gone simultaneously for just a few months and forever. 

I can't bear that you are just a set of cherished memories. I can't stand that you get farther away from us the longer we live. I remember the intense panic attacks I had daily after you died when I first became so vividly aware of that reality. You were farther and farther away from us every single minute of every single day. Your loss has been excruciating.

I know someone who likes to say that people are 'holding onto grief too tightly' or 'too long', as though she has any sense of what any person's process looks like outside of her own. Unsurprisingly, she also posts publicly about herself missing you usually within 24 hours of chastising one of us. I find that really gross, but I know that genuine conversation with her is useless, so I don't say anything. I'm just so sick of the emotional gatekeeping. I pray that she grows beyond the need to do this very soon.

Missing you so deeply that it steals my breath and throws me into tears randomly through the year doesn't mean I'm not healing in the spaces in between. It doesn't mean that any family members aren't, or that anybody is "grieving wrong". Certainly, none of us is qualified to claim to know what is healthy for the rest.

Your remains were recently interred in a place you've never visited: permanently laid to rest somewhere that was directly against your wishes. The intense amount of disrespect in not even giving you your final resting place about did me in, I'm going to be honest. I had to finally settle my soul on the fact that you were an easy-going guy and would likely have caved to the wishes and needs of those who love you. That somehow made me feel even worse. Still, Mom is alive and you would have wanted her needs to be respected. I can work on that. My final attempt at reconciling with this madness was the fact that the spirit who exists in an eternal state isn't concerned about where the ashes of your earthy body are laid. That settles it for me. 

Forgive my rambling, Dad. I know I am not actually talking to you but to the universe. That has to be okay for now. Thank you for loving us, and for investing your time in us. I will never forget the closeness we shared before you died: the way you made yourself available to us when you were already hurting and suffering. 

Thank you for being open about the darkness you faced. I've never seen Christmas the same since your last Christmas contained that confession, but I needed it somehow. I would do anything to go back in time and try to find a way to support you better or soothe your emotional pain. Knowing that you had these feelings inside helps me to give myself grace as I struggle through my own breathtaking depression. 

This year as Father's Day comes around and you are not with us, I will celebrate my hubs and his dad the way you liked best: a family cook-out. I will feel desperately sad and alone even as we are all together in the room, bc grief is like that. It is a very private journey. 

I miss you, Dad. 

Love,
      ~Lynn

Straw Bale Garden Update June 8th, 2024

Our garden this year is being grown up the sides of an arch tunnel extending from my back patio out toward the treeline. We have five bales each along the inside of the arch, four on the outer left side, and two on the outer right. There is also a garden container against the house full of wee Little Birdy Yellow Canary tomato plants and some fennel, a hill where Little Pie is growing pumpkins (Jack-O'-Lanters), and  small buckets that are growing Yukon Gold (new) potatoes. I say 'new' because we tend to harvest them little and use them in soups. We have the usual chives and strawberries, as well. 

 

Little Giraffe's Jack O' Lanterns

Hubs went through the garden today with me and we adjusted the names of tomato plants so I can *finally* make my list for the year. We have been updating it all along since it was planted last month. Unfortunately, critters (I believe raccoons that my neighbor is currently FEEDING, of all things) have been decimating plant after plant. We have already replaced something like ten plants and I still have some more naked spots of which I was unaware. :( I should have checked them personally this morning.

So, instead of being the conclusive list for the season, I present to you what we are growing right this minute: 

Outside Left Bales 

1) White Wonder, Jasper, Tatume Squash 

2) Mint Julep, Dr. Carolyn, Weaver's Black Brandywine 

3) Queen of the Night, Pink Brandywine, Sun Gold 

4) Amethyst, Golden Fang, Royal Golden Watermelon, My's Mystery (so named any time we've lost a label or it has faded in the sun) 

Inside Left Bales 

1) Wapsipinicon Peach, Royal Golden Melon, Jasper 

2)Fuzzy Blue Balls, Wild Boar Pork Chop, My's Mystery 

3) Sun Peach, Moonbeam, Chocolate Cherry 

4)Sun Dipper, Pink Girl, White Beauty 

5)My's Mystery, Pink Siberian Tiger, *empty*

Inside Right Bales

1) Lemon Squash, Phil's Two, Yellow Brandywine

2) Goat's Bag, Golden Fang, Banana Leg

3) Beefmaster, Beefsteak *or* Mark Twain (lol), Striped German 

4) Dino Eggs (entire bale)

5) Brandywine Pink, Hillbilly Potato Leaf, Brandywine Cherry

Outside Right Bales

1) Freckled Child, Dino Egg, Watermelon

2) Alice's Dream, Dirty Little Chicken, Chocolate Cherry

If you're counting, that is thirty-six distinct varieties of tomatoes. That is down by fourteen from our record-breaking year of fifty varieties last year, but it *is* past the thirty mark I kept trying to hit since 2017. I had fallen short of that by two or three for several years in a row, so I'm chuffed to have hit thirty for the second time. 

That is if the little rat-coons don't keep decimating my plants one by one...

Straw Bale Garden Update - June 2023

 

A panoramic view from the patio

Here we are on the final day of June, and I'm finally coming in with a garden update. :) To the right, you can see most of the garden, although there are five more bales to the left of the side (left) arch that continue all the way back up to the very edge of our house. The two nearest the house are loaded down with cucumber plants that are finally starting to climb on the fence behind their bales. There are also two more bales laden down with Scarlet Runner beans and random tomato plants that we ran out of places to tuck in elsewhere. The final bale has herbs and micro tomato plants. 

Pansies and Tomatoes

I also still have a tray of tomato starts that I can't bear to sell and can't find room to plant. What is a person to do? Why, buy extra dirt and fill more pots, of course! Will they need larger containers? Yes. Do I have them? No. Am I going to try to grow them in smaller containers anyway? You betcha. That is, unless I am able to find (or get creative and make) other accommodations for them. 

You can see that I have also tucked tomatoes in with my pansies. I get that this wasn't a great idea, but again, I didn't want to waste my small tomato plants. I have two of the Little Birdy series growing, that I know of. I don't believe that I had any Rosey Finch seeds left from last year. 

Galdiolus

Meanwhile, flowers are growing and blooming all over the yard. I have a ton of Cannas that are putting out their leaves in such a lovely fashion. I bought red Canna bulbs from someone in town this spring. I wanted green plants because that is the kind of Canna my dad gave to me as a gift years ago. Unfortunately, those bulbs never came back up the following year. When I bought these red Cannas, it was as close as I could get to the green. Imagine my utter delight when one set of bulbs put out green shoots! Now we refer to that as the "Papa Canna". It is a delight to find new ways to remember him out in the garden, and in the world around us. 

Okay, so let's get right down to it, shall we? I have a (hastily written) messy list of the tomatoes that are sitting out in my garden right now. I've always wanted to hit a solid 30 (or more) varieties. So far, the closest I've come is 27. Let's get this thing typed out and counted!

2023 Tomato Variety List

1. Climbing Triple Crop  

2. Pink Bumblebee

3. Sunchocula
4. Tumbling Tom
5. Sunpeach
6. Dr. Carolyn
7. Juliet
8. Spoon (I ended up with several plants, grown from seed and also purchased)
9. Banana Leg
10. Wild Boar
11. Mint Julip
12. Chocolate Pear
13. Pink Princess
14. Bumblebee Mix (so this could be sunrise, pink, or purple)
15. Yellow Bell
16. Pink Girl
17. Striped German
18. El Dorado
19. Zapotec
20. Dr. Whyche's
21. Midnight Snack
22. White Beauty
23. Mortgage Lifter Yellow
24. Tropical Sunset
25. Goliath Sunny
26. Mark Twain
27. Brandywine Yellow
28. Brandywine Suddoth
29. Brandywine Black
30. Brandywine Pink
31. Brandywine Cherry
32. Purple Boy
33. Beefmaster
34. Queen of the Night
35. Marglobe
36. Martino's Roma
37. Chef's Choice Pink
38. Watermelon Beefsteak
39. Kellogg's Breakfast
40. Yellow Beefsteak
41. Golden Fang
42. Horizon
43. Indigo Pear Drops
44. Nebraska Wedding
45. San Marzano
46. Rio Grande
47. Stump of the World
48. Little Birdy Yellow Canary
49. Little Birdy Red Robin
50. Chocolate Pear

Oh. My. Goodness!! I have more than met my goal! I have exceeded it - by a lot! EEEEEEKKK!!! Excuse my utter joy, here. I cannot believe this! Hallelujah! I panic-bought a TON of plants this year, after mine struggled so hard to make it. Then I also panic-planted another round of seeds from plants I saved from past years. Girl, WE DID IT!! HAHAHA I couldn't be happier to know that I have not just hit thirty, but exceeded it! This is, indeed, my biggest garden year EVER!! WAHOO!!! TOMATOES, BABY!!!

Oh, my stars! I am one happy gardener! In addition to the many tomatoes, we have many other things growing. Other Veggies (etc): Jack-O-Lantern pumpkins, Yellow Crookneck squash, Delicata squash, Spaghetti Squash, maybe Black Beauty zucchini, Marketmore cucumber, Tendergreen cucumbers, Lemon cucumbers, Scarlet Runner beans, Ground Cherries, Radishes, California Wonder Bell Peppers, Fire and Ice Peppers, Lettuce (mixed), Carrots, Lavender, Hale's Best Jumbo Cantaloupe, Yellow Potatoes (but no sign of growth yet), and Lemon Mint. 

Flowers: Gray Mammoth Sunflowers, American Giant Hybrid Sunflowers, Dwarf Teddy Bear Sunflowers, Calliope, Baby's Breath, Triteleia, Roses (pink, large pink, white tea roses, red, yellow/pink tea roses), Butterfly and Bird wildflower mix, Four O'Clock, Pansies, Cannas, Lilacs (only one reblooming)

Where Scripture Meets Self-Help

 

Head's up: my post is going to feel preachy. This meme is everywhere I look this week. It sounds good, but it also makes me cringe. The first line especially oozes with the self-loathing-rich religion on which I was raised. Do you know what I mean? The training that makes you hate yourself deeply, and then causes other Christians to ask why you struggle with confidence and self-esteem? (By 'ask' I mean look down on, deride, and judge you for.) Of course, the answer is never that you were taught wrong. It is claimed instead that you are being immature, underdeveloped, and are being selfish.

Snap-judgment lack of empathy is possibly the single-largest trait I see among my supposedly 'more spiritual' peers. Those who are in the highest of leadership roles become jaded. Having been a pastor's daughter and an evangelist's wife, I understand how that happens. I have deep sympathy for the dark things spiritual leaders and their families go through behind the scenes. I only wish that those things would create softer hearts, not callouses. 

If the only advice you can give someone who is suffering is that they are somehow being self-centered (by not focusing on God and others), you are part of the problem. This is partially why I remain adamant that spiritual leaders are *not* adequate counselors unless they have been trained in more than just applying guilt and shame-laden spiritual bandaids. I digress. 

Back to the image in question. What does the Bible say about these thoughts in a more thorough way? What is the long answer to each accusation? (After all, the self-help comments *are* accusations. Did you catch that?) What is the context?

Self-help: You are enough.
Scripture: Come to God exactly as you are. You are already worthy of His love. At no point in the Bible does it say that you are not enough. Yes, He is enough. His finished work on the cross is everything. Absolutely. God Almighty is the greatest. Even so, you don't have to change before you can find Him. What's more, you couldn't if you tried. 

Religion wants to remind you that you are unworthy and undeserving. God Himself assures us through Scripture that He found you worthy and deserving of His love, His life, His blood, and His eternity. The Lord beckons, "Come."

Matthew 11:28 - Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Isaiah 55:1 - Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.

John 3:16 - For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

Scripture says that whosoever believeth. How about we leave the toxic shaming off of this? God never meant to draw perfect people to the cross, because there is no such thing. Your sin is undeserving, but your self - your person - was worth dying for. Your identity is not found in your sin! You *are* enough that even by existing, you were worthy of God's love, Christ's life, and His redemptive death. Indeed, you were worthy of being created in the first place. You *are* enough, and God Himself thought so. 

In the same way that you would not look at your newborn child and say, "You are worth nothing on your own, but my love makes you valuable." God doesn't say that to you. I don't understand the penchant we Christians have of wanting to make sure each other knows how utterly worthless we are. It does not threaten the Almighty nature of God to admit that we have value. He, in fact, indicated such Himself. 

As a Father, God looks at us and says, "I have loved you since the beginning of time. I want you with me for all of eternity. I can offer you the strength you need to exist in this painful world. Accept my love. Accept my help. Be strong and of good courage." Why on earth, then, are we hell-bent on focusing on our unrighteousness over His all-consuming love? It baffles me.

Must we acknowledge our unrighteousness? Yes. Should we then live under the burden and shame of it? Unequivocally not.

Self-Help: Believe in yourself.
Scripture: Deny yourself. Believe in God. 

This one is biblically sound, which is great. What it fails to mention is that these two concepts (self-help and Scripture) do not conflict. God is the greatest source of strength for believers. 

Luke 9:23-24 - And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.

Denying ourselves is an important part of the Christian walk. That doesn't mean that we should ignore the next part - 'take up his cross daily, and follow me'. Friends, that is a verb: it takes action! Taking up one's cross and following after Christ involves self-sacrifice AND self-help! Leaning on those everlasting arms equips you with the strength and knowledge that you *can* do/be/act in whatever way you need to, to keep that spiritual life growing.

Isaiah 41:10 - Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

This is an example of God supporting us so that we can accomplish our actions. 

2 Corinthians 12:9 - And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

Don't be afraid to admit your weaknesses. Don't be afraid to do the work, to strive to do better. By all means, work to improve yourself: but lean on the Savior as you go.

2 Timothy 1:7 - For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

I included this verse because it is one I love to claim personally. :)

Ephesians 6:10 - Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.

Are you weak on your own? Lean on Him. Take on His strength, power, and might. It is available to you. 

Philippians 4:13 - I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

We see this theme repeated in the Bible: our actions are bolstered directly through His strength. The two are meant to be in harmony. I can do ALL things! 

God is not afraid to acknowledge the efforts of man. We are *so* afraid to allow ourselves a modicum of recognition, for fear of man's pride, that we go completely the opposite direction. We create a mindset of helplessness and toxic shame that God Himself never called for. His compassionate reaction of leaning into our weakness is nearly always followed up with a reminder that we are made strong. This Scriptural balance of give and take is *so* important for mental health in Christians. It cannot be overstated.

Hebrews 4:16 - Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.

There are many more reminders than just the few I have listed. Believing in God does not mean that you do not believe in yourself, whatsoever. If anything, it is why you can find strength and confidence. The two are not meant to conflict: they are meant to harmonize. 

Religion likes to remind you that you are helpless, when it should remind you that you are supported. 

You have an untapped well of strength, founded in the Father. Don't be afraid of looking to Him and calling on Him in those times of self-doubt. You *are* bolstered. You *are* loved. You *are* so valuable in your weakest moments that He chose death on the cross, rather than the thought of losing you for eternity. He didn't die because you're worthless. You are worth so much to Christ. 

Self-Help: Follow your heart.
Scripture: You need a new heart. Follow Jesus.

Jeremiah 17:9 - The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?

Psalms 51:10 - Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.

Hebrews 4:12 - For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.

Ezekiel 36:26 - A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh.

Proverbs 3:5-6 - Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. 

Psalms 34:18 - The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.

James 4:8 - Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. Cleanse your hands, ye sinners; and purify your hearts, ye double-minded.

1 Timothy 1:5 - Now the end of the commandment is charity out of a pure heart, and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned:

Jeremiah 17:10 - I the LORD search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings.

Again, we have thoughts that should harmonize rather than conflict. You can see where I am going, right? The heart is inclined to deceit. It is in our human nature to do what is selfish. The Bible does not stop there, so the quote should not have stopped there, either. 

Your baseline sinful state is not the end of the story. 

Thanks to the cross and the personal relationship with Jesus, you get a *new* heart: a *clean* heart. As a Christian, you should be operating from that clean-heart place. This is why we say to stay in the Scriptures: to renew our hearts and mind as often as possible. If your heart is securely in Christ, you should have every expectation that the Holy Spirit dwelling within you will lead your heart correctly.

Self-Help: Live your truth
Scripture: Jesus is the truth. He is life.

You can find a hundred verses about Jesus being the truth and the life without even batting an eye. This is a fundamental premise of our faith. A personal favorite is: 

John 14:6 

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

Again, I believe this ties in with operating from that new-heart place. If you want to live in purity, in truth, and in life it has to happen *through* Christ. 

I don't know about you, but I find it very discouraging to watch my fellow believers focus so intensely on how bad, wrong, negative, deceitful, and otherwise generally awful we are. I find it discouraging because it is already so deeply embedded in my soul: people are bad. People are sinners. People will hurt and betray one another. People are awful, awful, awful. 

Haven't we had enough of that already? Isn't it high time we encourage one another in the Lord, and not just "sharpen iron" through criticism and use of Scripture as a weapon? Is there anyone who has experience with religion who doesn't also bear this tremendous burden of guilt and shame? 

If we have already accepted the gift of salvation; if we are already living the faith and walking the walk, shouldn't there be room in there to also uplift one another? 

I *am* a negative Christian. I *am* exactly the product of posts like the one in the photo. I am shame-ridden, guilt-focused, and oftentimes stuck in my own worthlessness. My peers would have you believe that this is a weakness in me - a flaw that I through sin have created. I posit that I am exactly who I was trained to be. I heard spoken in every sermon three times a week in my formative years and all of my life to this point that I am base-level wicked, undeserving, unrighteous, the filthy rags of God's tool chest, and deserving *only* of hell. 

God never said that, though, did He? He said my *sin* was deserving of death. He said that I the human being am *loved* and that I am *worth dying for* because He *wants fellowship with me*. Oh, how different would my outlook be, if instead of my worthlessness I had been emphasized HIS WORTHINESS!! 

Even today, some would argue that it was emphasized correctly but my corrupt heart warped it. This breaks me on some level. I do not wish to think horrible things about myself. I do not wish to have an unjust and incorrect image of God caused by self-loathing. This isn't just a "me" thing, because the way I was taught God's love was always encapsulated in my unworthiness. For crying out loud, blaming and shaming me for having the wrong mindset when adults chose to pass that on to me accomplishes the exact same thing. Why does nobody see that? "YOU are SUCH A SINNER. YOU ALWAYS GET EVERYTHING WRONG! BAD YOU. SHAME ON YOU."

I take full responsibility for my outlook as an adult. I am responsible for unlearning the lies and for raising myself in the truth. I may acknowledge what was taught to me incorrectly while still holding myself accountable. Why is that so hard for everyone else? Why must it always come back down to continued shaming?

I cannot keep living like God's personal trash can. I cannot keep watching 'righteous' people share memes meant to hold one another under the burden of shame, and not say something. 

There is a proponent of self-help in Scripture. God *wants* you to find strength in Him. God *wants* you to go forward and do exploits. God *wants* your actions, your words, your thoughts. Indeed, Scripture is to be the inspiration source for everything. We freely admit that we cannot do these things in our own power, but this does not mean that we are a zero-value part of the equation. Self-help is *not* a threat to God Almighty. Working through His strength to improve the way we view the world, each other, and ourselves is not in conflict with His commandments.

Shame does not equal humility. 

Humility expands the heart and infuses empathy into an otherwise uncaring world. 

Shame binds with toxic cords.

These two things are not equal. Our focus on shaming with Scripture is not education. It stems from a deep mistrust of mankind. If we are honest, it also displays a lack of trust in the God we purport to believe in above all else. You cannot know someone's heart. You can barely know your own. This is why we *have* to trust that He is working within the hearts and lives of others. 

There are no 'good Christian' police. It is high time we stop behaving as if there are. Tell the story, but when you tell it, don't focus on our unworthiness: focus on the miracle that God through Christ Jesus brings into every life He touches. Remind your brothers and sisters that they *are* loved, they *are* capable of working with Him to grow, and they *are* worthy of His goodness. Christ died to remove our sins. Why on earth do we insist on focusing on how bad it made us, instead of how clean He makes us? 

Sanctification is an ongoing process, best served by encouragement. Be strengthened in the Lord. Applying scripture to one's life is the best form of self-help out there. It *does* take personal effort. God is *not* threatened by your hard work. Just lean, lean, lean on Him as you go.