I look just like my mom.

I have her teeth. Big. When I was young, I was always a little self-conscious about just how big my teeth were. But I also have her smile that is genuine and contagious.

I have her body build, complete with that dreaded middle-age, mid-section roll!

What I most cherish is that I have her hands. They are hands that actually look far older than they are, but they are hands that remind me of all that I have learned from my mom because she shared her passion for gardening with me.

My mom first taught me to love the feel of fingers in the dirt when I was in the 5^th grade and had to do a “show-and-tell” project. Together we decided that I could demonstrate how to pot a plant. We purchased the needed supplies and with her hands guiding mine, she taught me how to prepare the dark, rich soil with a hole dug out in the center waiting to receive the fragile root ball. I was so excited that my plant actually lived!

Throughout the years, I have moved several times, and each time I have called on my mom to help me with the garden. My mom knows all the names of plants and flowers. I do not. But I love that when we are together we can spend hours at a nursery picking just the right things for just the right spot. She has taught me to view the landscape as an artist might view an empty canvas; full of possibilities and just waiting for hands to get dirty! I have learned to see beauty in nature and marvel at the variety of color and texture.

She has shared her own plants with me and as I wander through my garden I remember where they came from and when. I see the hostas and remember digging them out of her yard in Michigan and folding them into a duffel bag for the plane ride home. Planting them as she taught me, they thrive in my yard and create a connection between us across the miles. I remember the daylilies that were so dry I thought there was no possible way they would live. But there was mom, with hose in hand saying, “get your hands dirty and plant them in mud Denise – they’ll be just fine.” Every spring they bloom a beautiful testimony to my mom’s encouragement.

I have received phone calls and emails, gardening magazine subscriptions and the occasional the gift of something she has discovered because “Denise, you just HAVE to have this in your yard!” There is not a plant in my garden that doesn’t cause me to stop, look at my hands, smile and thank my mom for sharing her love for gardening with me.

It was not until I was older, had children, a job and all of the demands that go with life that I truly understood the passion. Gardening is a place of respite. Sure it’s hard work, and sure my hands are always just slightly stained and I will never successfully have a manicure last longer than a day – but I have learned that gardening is a retreat. It’s a place where I am free to think, free to pray, free to work through whatever I need to work through. There are times when it seems like just absolutely nothing is right in my world – yet I can go out into the garden for just an hour and find quiet, peace and see accomplishment.

My mom taught me that there are some things to plant that are foundational to the garden. Those are the plants that hold the structure and provide the basis to build from. We spend more time cultivating the ground and caring for these things because we want these to grow deep roots that will support and give strength when the storms come. She taught me that there are things to plant that will come back every year and that sometimes we plant only for a season, and that is okay too. Gardening has taught me to enjoy the seasons. Seasons of new growth, seasons of full bloom, seasons of dying and cleaning out and seasons of dormancy and rest.

Gardening has taught me to be fearless – if only in this one area in my life. I am encouraged to try new things in new places to see what happens. Sometimes, the beauty of the outcome surprises me. Other times I realize I made a mistake. I have learned that those mistakes can be rectified. Just because something is planted here… that doesn’t mean it can’t ever be moved to there…. If something doesn’t flourish in one place, move it and see how it does. Gardening has taught me that sometimes things just don’t work, no matter how well you plant, how well you water, how well you tend.

Lessons learned in the garden have become valuable in life. With the eye of a gardener I see my world around me full of color and texture; vibrant and alive. There are those foundational things like faith, family and friendships that need to be carefully cultivated and well cared for so the roots grow deep and strong in order to weather the storms of life. There are seasons in life that are seasons of new birth, maturity, death, and dormancy. Gardening has taught me to be patient; trusting that a new season will emerge. I apply the lesson that mistakes can be rectified and just because I made this one decision, I am not necessarily stuck with it forever. I can change my mind. I am not necessarily fearless in all of life, but gardening says that I can be.

I have only to look at my hands to be reminded of the lessons from the garden. I have only to look at my hands to know gratitude to my mom for sharing her passion with me and encouraging me to develop it in my own life. I have only to look at my hands to hope that I pass it on to my own children.

Thank you mom, for giving me your hands!

I love you,

Denise

#mom #thankyoumom #mothersday #livingholy