Day One - April 1, 2020
Today I awoke to a little white bundle of joy snuggled up to my legs snoring loudly. “Mommy’s baby”... is what we call our little, Nellie. She sets the tone for every morning, creating rhythm and routine regardless of whether we’d prefer to stay in bed or not.
The sun rose again this morning, despite a global pandemic. Blue skies graced the sky as Andrei and I trudged through the tall grass and woods on our daily morning trek. I find it considerably easier to accept the many changes when the sun shines brightly.
My kids taped the first clue to a Scavenger Hunt to the front door for me to follow to receive my morning birthday present. I could tell Leah was the author of the hunt. My kids haven’t been to a store in over a month and no Prime packages have arrived, so I wondered as I followed the clues what I would discover…
And there it was - tucked behind a rain barrel deep in the garden - clue #7. A beautifully written note from our youngest one. No paragraphs, typed, and folded in four with no fanfare or ribbons. Just a plain old conscious stream of thought, steeped in love, and packaged up for my heart.
“Dearest Mum,
I cannot even explain to you how much you mean to me. You are always there for me whenever I need you (which is literally all the time). I absolutely adore you so much and I know I can’t make this part rhyme but it is 11pm at night and I couldn’t let this idea slip my mind, so I had to write you a letter, even if I get caught and get grounded for being on my computer after 10. Anyway I love you so much. Wait don’t read that part out loud. Too late I guess. But I hope this doesn’t sound cheesy but you are honestly the best mom anyone could ever ask. And to be honest I actually don’t know how old you are turning, So…. Happy 45th Birthday, I hope 45 treats you well. Love yah mom!”
This, followed by two fried eggs by Dan and two very green heart-shaped pancakes which Nellie practically begged right off my plate....
Close to 10am, a very loud parade of minivans and a pickup truck rolled down my street, and from out of their car windows and from the bed of the truck came my crazy siblings and their kids singing “Happy Birthday” with that ever widening social distance line between us. We haven’t seen one another in nearly a month. One sister drove over an hour to spend five minutes singing to me.
With a full heart, the day progressed in the similar daily pattern of what feels like an eternity now. The kids have a regular and pretty typical school day, Katerina has full-time college classes, Andrei is thankfully able to continue working from home. The laundry mounds high, the dishes pile higher, the dog begs for another walk… and somehow I just can’t seem to find any rhythm or routine. I start working on a project, chore, or idea and am distracted and don’t seem to find myself feeling as though I complete anything.
It seems that I find myself most at peace in my gardening. There is a quiet solace there. It remains constant. Slow. Without fanfare, ribbons or acclaim. Just dirt, seeds and tender care. It has become my haven.
Last year I harvested some dried flowers to use as seed for this year’s flower garden. Today, as I carefully broke apart the dried flower head, the seeds began to fall in earnest. I found myself contemplating the plant cycle. We enjoyed beautiful cut flowers dotted throughout the garden last summer and into the fall. And then they curled, died and became brittle enough to collect for this year’s seed. These seeds have waited in darkness for over five months to be planted today. They held potential all winter long to produce crops but it wasn’t the right time. They needed to sit in the dark, waiting for spring to arrive.
And today, the heads were finally broken apart and the seeds went into a completely different environment. Dark. Damp. Moist, warm soil.... Sitting under the afternoon sun rays waiting for the miracle of germination to take place and life to spring forth.
As I tucked the seeds into the soil, I silently prayed for strength to continue in my current soil. My current environment which doesn’t “feel” like it’s producing much right now. I certainly don’t “feel” like I’m actively sprouting buds or producing much fruit right now.
But I remind myself… again… there are seasons and times for growing, resting, or sitting in the dark. I pray for courage to face another day with tenacious and fierce faith. A faith not built on wishful thinking or emotionalism - but TRUTH. I lean in to set my heart and home on truth so that we may weather through each season by the grace of God.
And so now, we watch and wait for the miracle to sprout… it must. It is a natural law.
