Unassuming Rebels

 

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Photo credit: @fotografie_thomaswilken

In my mom’s backyard garden, there was always a persistent patch of Forget-Me-Nots.  Those tiny blue buds were a happy sight each spring, bursting forth with jubilation and triumph over their successfully large plot in a non-garden area in the yard.  They were planted, with good intentions, in the middle of a grassy spot and they did their thing – they spread.

 Every spring after my dad died, my mom would dig up a fistful of Forget-Me-Nots, roots and all, and would take them to the cemetery where my dad’s ashes had been placed in a columbarium.  There was a small, orderly garden plot directly across from the plaque behind which my dad’s urn sat and my Mom would faithfully replant those Forget-Me-Nots in new soil.

The cemetery had strict guidelines for items placed at graves, in front of columbariums and in the garden plots scattered around the grounds.  They were firm that you were not allowed to plant anything yourself but you could pay the cemetery to plant trees in memory of your loved one.  We did that one year with a black walnut tree – much like the ones in the yard where my dad grew up on his farm, outside of Wallaceburg – and they stationed a small plaque at its base identifying that it was my dad’s tree.

While the tree and the plaque were nice, there was something to be gained that was satisfying for the soul through the act of replanting these flowers. My Mom would defiantly plant those Forget-Me-Nots each year, without fail.

Yesterday, was the anniversary of my dad’s death.  Twenty-one years have passed and my mom, after her own Cancer diagnosis, joined him in heaven last September.

I may not be in Canada this spring, but when I’m there in the future, I hope to continue not only the small rebellion of planting Forget-Me-Nots, but also little acts of love that will help me remember and honour my parents.  They were quiet protesters in their own right, advocating for the voiceless, the poor, the sick and the oppressed.  Their names may never enter history books, but they left a legacy of kindness and love and of sacrificial giving of themselves.

Those tiny blue blossoms.  No matter how hard the winter, they are resilient, persistent, and multiply joy.  May we weather storms of life in an equal manner.

yearly miracles

“Waiting, trusting, and hoping are intricately connected, like golden strands interwoven to form a strong chain.  Trusting is the central strand, because it is the response from My children that I desire the most.   Waiting, and hoping embellish the central strand and strengthen the chain that connects you to Me…” 

-p.75, March 12, “Jesus Calling”, by Sarah Young

One of the things I LOVE about Thailand is that no matter what season you’re experiencing – hot, rainy, cold, and, of course, smokey season – there are always new flowers blooming.  Bursting in colour along roadsides, mountainsides, in your garden, and in the ditch by the dirty canal.  From the lowest level next to the dirt, to the highest branch and beyond.  The continuous stream of buds of various sizes, colours, intricacies and smells are not limited to only one short growing season each year.

But many of these flowers only bloom once a year.  They take turns being quiet while their neighbour blooms, taking centre-stage.

As a gardener, caring for the plants in your yard, you plant, water, fertilize where applicable, and wait for the crop to yield its produce.

Tawee’s the gardener in our family.  It’s his therapy of sorts – spending time out in nature, silently praying conversations with God, hanging out with our dog and two cats and creatively cultivating the vegetables, flowers and other plants in our yard.  He is constantly grabbing seeds, branches or other living items from wherever we happen to be (or stop along the side of the road) to plant in our garden.  I’m amazed at how a leaf planted in dirt will produce roots and the eventual entire plant.  Or how the stick planted by the small creek that runs beside our property will leaf, grow in size and become a small tree.  He loves the surprise of seeing whether or not something he brought home will thrive in our yard, and what it will look like when it flowers or seeds or spreads in a certain area of the garden.  I love it too.

The biggest surprise is when he doesn’t suspect a plant to behave in a certain way and then it tricks us all.

The latest example is a leafy, rooty orchidish (but not) type plant that he expected will just have nice green leaves and hang from a basket in the tree.  But all of a sudden there is a cluster of small, white, strangely shaped buds.  What will happen next?  What did he bring home?  Several days later, the funny buds pop open and a friendly little white flower with some pink detail smile broadly and boast a beautiful yet delicate fragrance.

A little miracle in the garden.  A once a year miracle.

90. Miracles in all shapes and sizes.
91. Blooms in every direction and colour.
92. A dear husband with two green thumbs (and a love for flowers and all things that grow!).
93. The surprises of nature.
94. The Ultimate Artist, Gardener and Creator.

[Note: I’ve since discovered that these are not orchids at all but are hoya!]