Though their flowers are delicate, the Magnolia is a very hardy tree. It is believed, the Magnolia existed before bees, as it is pollinated by beetles. This stately tree represents long life, beauty, innocence, joy and good health.
Years ago I received a magnolia tree from my kids, on the first Mother’s Day gift at our present house. At the time, it stood about four feet tall. Now, as the image (above) shows, it has grown to over twelve feet in it’s present location.
As I took time, a few days ago, to appreciate it’s physical and scented beauty, my mind drifted over my stages of mothering, since it was lowered into it’s present earthen home.
Fourteen years ago, our three children were eleven, seven and four. We moved into this house with three children, toys, bedtimes and dreams.
We snuggled on the couch to watch animated movies, read stories at bedtimes, kissed ‘owies‘ to make them feel better, swam in the pool all summer long and rode sleds on the steep driveway in winter.
Those were beautiful years of mothering, for whatever nasties arose during the day were gone by bedtime. Of course they were also draining years, as the demand for mom was a constant (what mom has not marvelled at how her children can be seated with dad, yet they will yell to mom that they are hungry?).
Those beautiful years were followed by the years of increasing homework, school and community sports and clubs, sleep-overs, friendship stretches and struggles, playing kick the can in the streets and memorable family vacations.
Those were the years of two steps out and one back, growing into the local communities of neighbourhood, school and church, looking for affirmation from peers, yet still a strong need to return, to be held, to non-verbally ask to be reminded of their value in their mom’s eyes.
Then came the teen years into the twenties. These were (are) the independent years of becoming their own selves, individuals, separate from their place and people of origin. Everything from relationships, to music, to clothing, to future plans screamed ‘I am an autonomous human being’ .
During these independent years their dad and I wondered if we might sever our tongues for biting them so frequently. They have also been the years when sometimes my job was just to listen (no advice sought, just a safe, listening ear). Sometimes I have also had to give a boost … like when they were still littles and needed a boost to start sledding down the snow-covered driveway. Sometimes the boost is just that age-old mom cheer of ‘you can do it‘. Sometimes the boost is one to say, ‘move on, from where you are’.
My beautiful magnolia tree, that gift from those who call me mom, mum, momma, has grown strong and tall, like my once littles. It has grown alongside my creations. And like it, they will continue to grow … their roots reaching into new soil. My prayer is that they would grow toward the light of life.
itsawonderfilledlife 