|An orchid in Costa Rica (Photo Credit, Jose Manuel Lopez Pinto, Wikipedia).|
There’s an orchid that sits on a green table on my porch. It was a Mother’s Day present from my son several years ago, which he has no memory of.
When he first gave it to me, the purple and white striped blooms had this delicate magical beauty, but unsure of my limited green thumb skills, I was concerned. Could I mother such a delicate plant? I put it on the porch and followed some basic orchid care instructions for dummies I found on the internet.
Next to the green table is the chair where I often sit to pray the evening office; where day after day, week after week, the orchid blossomed and thrived and gave me such joy. While praying there, I offered up the many concerns I had about my son; prayed when there were days I didn’t hear from him, prayed when I knew with that motherly instinct that something was wrong, but I didn’t know what.
Then one day, I could see the blooms dying off. One by one they dropped away, until all that was left of those purple veined beauties was a plant with thick green leaves. The flowers were gone mirroring almost simultaneously a dark time in my relationship with my son.
Read the rest of this special Mother's Day post at Bell of the Wanderer.