Going To Seed

The end of the summer my garden looks tired. The fullness of its summer glory has passed.
 Stems become spindly, the flower heads dry. As the air begins to cool, acorns plunk on the roof and maple seed 'helicopters' twirl silently to the ground. Dandelion wishes are carried away on the wind.

My grandmother explained the phenomenon when I was a kid. We would walk through her garden and she would pluck a seed pod from one of her lilies or morning glory vines. Opening it up and showing me all the little potentialities inside the husk, she'd say, "See, it's gone to seed." Then she would toss the handful of particles into the flower bed, where they'd rest, waiting for springtime to awaken them.

                                              Sunflower in varying stages of seed maturation
                               

I have always been fascinated by seed pods. They are unique and intricate works of art. Seemingly dead and inconsequential, they contain the miraculous.
Velvet Leaf, seed pod already emptied 1/2015

 Cattails 1/2015

 Hibiscus 2009

I see the connection we humans have to all of nature. Studying her helps me to understand how we are tied to the natural laws. We have our times of smallness, of feeling we do not fit in this big, bold world. We weather harsh seasons. Sometimes we are alone in the cold. We have spring time awakenings, physical, mental and spiritual. Opportunities to make life abundant come upon us. We create and we bloom. We have our summer of fullness. We are strong, well fed and we thrive in the heat. We work hard. We are rewarded. We get tired. Our blooming slows down, then stops. We have spent our stores of strength. We give from what we have learned. Thus, we go to seed in our own way, as does all of nature.

Canna Lily from the backyard 1/12/15


Within all of us are miracles lying dormant, gestating in the quiet darkness. The soil of the mind is a fertile place where we cultivate thoughts and ideas as the garden cultivates roses as well as poison ivy. We need to tend to the garden of the mind well, less it should become overgrown with the briars that prevent the beautiful things from flourishing.

Tending the garden is hard work. Tending the mind is infinitely harder. A whole lot of trouble can come from the most inconspicuous little thing. We are so easily deceived by beauty, abundance, charm. We listen, we hear what we like, we take it home and give it a nice place to root. Later, we find planting the little idea was a lot easier than digging it out.
Four years ago I found a gorgeous little purple flower in a field in the country. The seed pods looked like miniature string beans and strangely, it was producing flowers and seeds simultaneously. The seeds were round and black, the size of a single sprinkle on a birthday cupcake. I took a few home and tossed them into the garden, hoping maybe one would come up. In spring I was delighted to see the first blooms.

Purple Vetch Spring 2010  

By summer the plant was choking out the Yarrow. I began pulling it out of the ground but couldn't keep up with how fast it reproduced. I have had to diligently watch for its first sprout each spring. After four years it still manages to come up somewhere in the yard. Without the flower, there is no seed.  Thus the saying, "nip it in the bud." Invasive and poisonous ideas are similar.

1/2015

Jimson Weed, also referred to as Devil's Snare, seed pod revealing it's deadly seeds. All parts of the plant are poisonous. Jimson weed is invasive, which means it is one of the first plants to cultivate itself on newly cleared ground. The flower is beautiful, resembling a large white Morning Glory. Georgia O'keefe's rendering of it fetched the highest price ever paid for a female artist's work. At auction in September 2014 it sold for 44.4 million dollars.

My grandfather taught me the very best fertilizer is manure. Every year in spring, much to my Nana's disgust, he'd get a pickup truck load of cow manure from the dairy farm nearby. He'd spread it over the entire front yard. It smelled and looked appalling. By the end of May he had the greenest lawn on the street. What are we fertilizing in our thoughts? Goodness, kindness, mercy? A greener, happier existence for ourselves and our fellow man?
The negative Ism's love fertilizer too. Egotism, racism, sexism, alarmism.
The roots we nourish determine the harvest.

I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I'd sought knowledge about that pretty, little, wicked vetch. I should have done the work. The work of seeking to understand. Why didn't I do that first? Naiveté, misjudgment, apathy, laziness? Beguiled by beauty? None are good excuses. I learned a valuable lesson.
Learn as much as you can before you place a seed in the ground or an idea in your mind. Seek to understand. The most vibrant gardens, and souls, are the ones daily tended by discernment.
We find solace in the presence of each.

My babies are having babies. It is surreal to say the least. My oldest is due with a little girl just at the mark of my fiftieth year circling the sun.
She has a baby registry I can view online. When I had her, online didn't exist.
I remember my mother at my baby showers remarking, "Wow. They didn't have that when I was having babies." There was no such thing as disposable diapers when I was a baby. My mom had 3 kids in 3 years. She told me recently that my dad came home from work one day dying to use the bathroom, but the toilets had soaking diapers in them and he had to go outside.
I thought the stuff of my babyhood was antiquated. Obsolete. I wonder if my daughter's think the same. There are things now I never used or even heard of. A nasal aspirator called a "snotsucker," a video monitor where you can see your child from another room, a bottle with a straw thingy in it that keeps the baby from getting gas in her tummy. New inventions abound.
Motherhood remains the same.

How do I break it to them that life from here on is immeasurably altered? How do I tell them they have no idea what they are in for? How do I explain how their hearts are going to expand beyond the limits of their bodies, their minds are going to find rest evasive, their compassion, love and empathy are going to stretch and thin just as the cervix does when birth is imminent. When one births a child one births a myriad of miraculous changes in one's self. The psyche surpasses its adolescence. We come through that night of pain and work, and we are never the same. Love takes on a meaning never before known and undefinable. Postpartum depression should surprise no one. The spiritual transition is profound and exhausting. New mothers need nurturing. They need someone to say, "It's a whirlwind, isn't it? I know. I remember well. You'll be okay. I'm here. I'll help you." But people today think it's no big deal. Have your baby, go home the next day. Go to work 4 to 6 Mondays from now. Life goes on. There was a time when birth and the newness of motherhood and infancy were cherished and protected. It was fragile and it was handled with care. It was given the luxury of time, tenderness and patience. It was nurtured by the best nurturers, the women who'd already traveled the way and knew the path. They taught us the pitfalls, the possible wrong turns and the blessed shortcuts.  Babies and new mothers are as newly sprouted fern fronds in the forest. Unfurling slowly as the sun warms the day. Tender, crushable, evolving. Getting stronger little by little. And like the butterfly emerging from the cocoon, they are not to be rushed, lest they be harmed.

Why I Marched

It's been seven days since I marched along side 60,000 people in Atlanta and joined spirits with hundreds of thousands marching with us around the world. The experience was profound and life changing. I've never done anything like it. My son asked me if it made me feel empowered. What it made me feel was validated.
Many of my family and friends support Trump and the disagreements on his ideas have been numerous and sometimes ugly. I have been called many names because of my opposing viewpoint. Libtard, Snowflake, Whiner, Feminazi.  I have been told straight to my face that I am stupid and don't know anything about the real world. More than one person has said that I am an embarrassment because of my anti Trump posts on Facebook. They've talked about me behind my back, snickered, gossiped and laughed because their candidate won and mine lost. Mind you, these people claim to love me. Most also claim to know and love God.
I am bankrupt of understanding why they are comfortable with the choice they made in light of the latter.

In the week since the march there's been a lot of controversy. People who don't understand say things like,
What's the point?
What do women want that they don't already have?
The whole thing is because they're afraid they won't be able to get abortions anymore as a form of birth control.
They're just demonstrating what a Feminazi is. A man hater.
They think they're going to change the outcome of the election by having a hissy fit in the street?

Some people really think that's the point. We're just mad because a woman didn't win the presidency.
Those people are wrong.

The march is a “stand on social justice and human rights issues ranging from race, ethnicity, gender, religion, immigration and healthcare." 
(From The Women's March on Washington website)

Everyone has their own story and their own reasons for marching. But, in a nutshell,
all the people marched for all the people.

I am not in danger of losing my healthcare.
I am not in danger of being banned from the country. 
I am not in danger of being deported. 
I am not in danger of losing access to birth control, prenatal services or cancer screenings otherwise unaffordable.
I am not in danger of being discriminated against because of my skin color.
I am not in danger of being placed on a registry because of my religion.
I am not in danger of having my marriage rights removed.
I am not in danger of discrimination because of my sexual orientation. 
I am not in danger of discrimination because my genitalia does not reflect the gender I inherently know I belong to.
I am not in danger of not being able to pay the bills if I take maternity leave to bond with and nurture my baby.
I am not in danger of dying in a war ravaged area of the world.
I am not in danger of drowning while trying to escape poverty and fear.
At least for now, I am not in danger.

I marched for those who are.

Toward the end of the march, when we were tired, thirsty and our bladders were about to burst, the Central Presbyterian Church welcomed us with a tent full of volunteers just outside their courtyard. They were passing out cupful after cupful of ice water at a fold out table. One of them said to me, "We have bathrooms if you need one." 
They opened their bathrooms to us. 
All 60,000 of us. 
Volunteers  cheerfully held the doors open. This was, quite literally, a Godsend. It had been a long time since we'd used the port-a-potties at the beginning and most places along the way, understandably, were not opening their doors to a crowd that size. 

It was at this time that I experienced the most profound moment of the entire march.
Standing on top of the table was a little boy. Likely, no older than three. His rain boots peeked out from beneath the hem of an orange apron that was much too big for him. On the apron was pinned a large button that said "Central Presbyterian Church Volunteer." The volunteers filled the cups and placed them on the table, and he would hand them to anyone in the crowd who was thirsty. His name, I found out later, was Danny.
I left the church 12 years ago, but the Holy Spirit did not leave me. When Danny handed me the cup the Spirit whispered.

Lord, when did we see You hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to You?’

Then the King will answer, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for Me.’ 

Matthew 25: 44-45

 People will remember the largest march in United States history for many different reasons. I will remember it as a joyous standing together of people united for others. I will remember that love without action is not love at all and faith without works is dead. I will remember a little child handing me a a cup of water and God reminding me that when we turn our backs on others, we have turned our backs on him.