I don’t remember when I got the first orchid. I don’t remember who gave it to me or even what color it was. I remember it was after looking through droves of flower photos from my father’s images after he passed away in December of 2013.
Dad loved to take pictures. And he saw things in ways other people didn’t. For better or worse depending on your perspective. My relationship with him took many different forms during the 4 decades we shared this earth. Truthfully for most of the first 3 decades he wasn’t part of my life really at all. That last decade though, where lots of things got sorted out, well, that decade was pretty magical and I am forever grateful for it.
It wasn’t long after the orchid landed in my front window that it became evident the window was meant for these plants. It thrived, and held onto its bloom for months. I was captivated.
Not being too easy to buy gifts for, the next year or so was filled with new orchids, as I fumbled my way though learning how to best help them grow.
I poked around the internet to get tips on how to grow orchids. These people were intense. Installing lights to keep the leaves straight, creating a drainage system, tracking the growth of specific flowers.
I was out. There could be nothing in my life meant to remind me of beauty that took so much work.
I was officially winging it.
I felt more comfortable immediately.
I was at the time the mom of a recently diagnosed tween with a rare disease that I also shared. We were learning and figuring and trying to stay afloat. I was trying to learn my new body after my bilateral mastectomy and the shove into menopause from my full hysterectomy in 2012. My grandparents were suddenly aging. My relationship with my church was falling apart. I kept smiling, and telling everyone we had it all under control. But we didn’t. I was winging my whole life.
Somehow though I was interested enough in the orchids to keep them alive and happy. They became a hobby, and a reminder that there is beauty in everything if we know how to look. My orchids helped me with perspective.
They helped me appreciate the beauty of creation. They helped me when I was alone after a foot injury in 2019 and when the world turned upside down with the pandemic in 2020.
I came to spend a lot of time looking out the front window, fussing with leaves and stems, and just admiring the tenacity of these beautiful plants. I think the fact that I just let them be and grow their own way has been the most important lesson of all.
But, there are countless other things these plants have taught me.
This one was supposed to be dead from “root rot.” Plants don’t survive once the rot hits the main root. Someone forgot to tell the plant. After a few years of nurturing it bloomed this month. Patience. Determination. Don’t give up. Trust your instincts.
And this one, such beautiful flowers. And if you only glance at it that is all you will see.
But it is struggling. Its leaves show signs of distress. I tried repotting it. I tried leaving it alone. Some days I just stand by this one and wonder what it’s going through. By being present and attentive, I’m hoping one day I will be able to give it the support it needs. We may look like we have it all together on the outside, but it may be taking everything we have to produce that smile. Look at each other. See people. Really see them. And don’t give up when they are struggling. Keep showing up. You may be the thing keeping them going.
And this one… it looks different than the others because despite my best efforts, it grows at an angle. It bothered me for a brief minute and I tried to correct it. Then I noticed the rich sticky sap on its stem. This is a happy plant. It doesn’t care about looking like the others. It had strong roots and is thriving. This one inspires me to be more like it. Even though it has no flowers right now, it makes me smile every day. Put your best self out into the world and that may be enough to bring joy to someone who needs it.
If you look closely here you will see that there are two plants in this pot. One has long since finished blooming, it looked nothing like the other. One is holding onto its purple flowers for quite some time. Two totally different plants in exactly the same pot. Two different potting mediums shoved together, and yet both are thriving. They figured out a way to do more than coexist. They figured out a way that, despite their differences they could both have what they need. Imagine if we took more time to care for those close to us, with different needs, instead of choking them out because we need the pot all for ourselves?
One plant – two spikes. From the same root they grew on their own, yet they’re able to have their independent spikes without hurting each other. So much we can learn.
This one has the longest spike. I have no idea what its flowers will look like, but I will be there to celebrate alongside it when it is finished with its climb.
Once a week, usually on a Sunday morning while I listen to www.churchunleashedtv.com I bring them all from the front window into the kitchen. Most are watered just by soaking them. (I use mostly bark as a potting medium.) When they are soaking I often stop to listen and I can hear them, happily absorbing the water into their roots. I hear them, and I am grateful for the ability to care for them. I am grateful for the reminder to listen. Really listen, so that I can truly hear.
And I peak down at this little guy that has been through a lot. I am not sure what its future holds, but know that both of us have tried out best. And watching its little roots nourished by the water gives my soul some peace.
Any orchid die hards would probably wince at the state of some of these plants. But, I have learned that they are perfect just the way they are and I have worked to meet them where they are, and accept them where they are. Whenever I can, I give them what they need to thrive or to just survive. They are perfectly imperfect, and immersed in the grace so freely given to me. Most days it’s hard to tell who needs who. I’ve grown quite attached to these little life lessons, delivered in the form of beautiful flowers.
I’m getting older. I am tried. I am less social. I am sad a great deal. I do not know how to fix the unsettled feelings in my heart.
My body is beat up from 5 decades of PTEN life. My heart hurts from the 2 decades my daughter has endured. This life is hard. People tire of hearing that but it is hard. It is with you 24/7 and it Iiterally lives in every cell of your body.
The cycle of surgery, recovery, scan, is endless.
Most days I try my best to focus on something that keeps peace in my soul.
Some days that is harder than others. But, every day we remain…
#beatingcowdens