A Tribute to Mothers


This story is dedicated the most amazing of woman, my mother. A lonely patch of dirt sat vacant and wanting. Rich soil and boundless potential for life was masked with a dusty reality. One day a Gardener passed by and her eyes saw the pitiful patch, but her heart saw a beautiful garden waiting to be revealed. The Gardener set out to create with her hands, what her heart saw.

Day after day she began to nurture the patch. She tilled the dirt, revealing rich soil, others had not taken the time to uncover. The Gardener was enthralled by her secret patch of glory. Summer was fast approaching; she knew it was time to plant before spring rains.  The next morning she rose early to plant the seeds. Passerby’s murmured amongst themselves, “How can anything come from that dusty old patch?” Still others offered wise counsel to enhance her efforts. All together she remained steadfast with belief this would be the loveliest garden to ever be.

She dug with precision, planting each seed with the utmost care one by one. In the middle of her garden she planted a tree that would grow into a strong place to rest and relax with those whose company she enjoyed. Day was closing in. Her hands were raw and calloused, fingernails packed with soil, her shirt damp with perspiration, and skin darkened by the sun. Walking home she smiled to herself and thought,“ I have made a good thing.” Now the rain could come.

Weeks passed. On a quite night the clouds covered up the light of the moon and loud thunder rolled across the land. Fierce lighting struck. Winds howled, and cracked, whipping through the trees. The Gardener thought about her precious patch that she had given so much love, labor, and time. Would it all be for not? The storm was too thick to try to save the garden now. She had done all she could do.

It was a long night, the Gardener’s heart felt as if someone was holding it over a fire, ready to let go at any moment. All she could do was remember the Promise of what her heart had seen.  Morning came as a stark contrast of the night before; singing birds and fragrant air from the cleansing rain. She peeled back the curtains and saw branches scattered in the yard. Throwing on her boots she ran with all her might to her garden. To her dismay, she fell to her knees at the sight.

The only thing that remained was the tree in the middle of the garden. It looked as if the rest of the garden had been turned upside down and shaken together.  Plants scattered, and mud overpowered the plot.  The storm had come like a thief and stolen the Gardner’s wages of love. Or so she had thought.  Standing to her feet she walked in the patch, squashing though the slop, she put her hand on the mighty tree trunk that stood tattered but courageous. The bark was rough against her hand. Hope entered her and her heart began to quicken, something of color caught her attention. Life, could it be?!

She took a few steps and knelt down identifying three tender sprouts rooted in the soil. The Gardener rejoiced! She danced and clapped. The love and toil and faith had produced life still, despite the storm.  In no time the rest of the garden game back to life. Her eyes finally saw what her heart envisioned all along.

Many came to sit under the shade of the mighty tree and found delight in the work of the Gardener’s hands. There were many lovely plants and fruit now, but the Gardener always had her eye on the three sprouts now lovely plants that survived the storm. 

The Gardener proved that the dusty patch of dirt was in fact a bountiful garden, now gloriously revealed. The garden brought her great joy and produced much fruit from that time on, for many generations to come.

Always Inspired (by my Mother),