Enduring, Planting & Blooming

Mother’s Day is this month, and I wanted to have a little sit-down chat with you. I just felt like talking to you, connecting with you, and encouraging you. This little heart-to-heart is also a podcast episode! So if you’d rather listen than read, check it out by clicking here or listen anywhere you get your podcasts.

Maybe it was all the rain here in California, but this winter season has seemed without end. I’m not complaining; I know we need the rain, and being originally from Chicago, I know there is far worse weather to bear than some rain.

But both literally and figuratively, it has felt like a long, cold, and wet winter.   Our family has been up to our eyeballs with medical appointments, and it’s been another season where it’s been hard to find our footing. And, just like in my Chicago winters, I’ve had to bundle up and bear it.

We are still not through it, but my head and heart long to be. I am craving the sunshine and the spring. I’m craving answers, resolution, and easier days. But we don’t always get that in rare mama life, do we?

Just like we can’t influence the weather, we certainly don’t always have control over our children’s rare diseases, and sometimes we have to sit in the storm.  

It got me thinking about motherhood. There is no one definition of motherhood.  Every mother has their motherhood path. We, rare mamas, certainly have to find our path. Rare motherhood can look much different than perhaps what we expected motherhood would look like.

There are different seasons of motherhood. Some seasons of rare motherhood are cold and wet and feel like long winters. When all is not right and even, perhaps, when all is not well.

I heard this quote from author Washington Irving: “A mother’s love endures through all.” Oh, how that hit me!  Doesn’t that ring so true for us rare mamas?  Sometimes our love looks enduring. Sometimes it’s holding on for dear life. When we can’t change the current circumstances, when we can’t make it better, we endure.

That’s the power of a mother’s love. No matter how hard it is, no matter how bad it gets, it holds.

As mothers, we want to protect our children, ease their pain, and change their circumstances for the better. But often, we aren’t able to change our children’s health circumstances, and that loss of control can be emotional and extremely hard to deal with.

So, it had me thinking about what we do while we endure the winter, await change, and anticipate spring, sun, and warmth.

I like to think about it as a time for planting seeds.

We can use this time to plant seeds of hope, seeds of strength, seeds of resilience, and seeds of change.

Why? Because first, it gives us something to believe- planting seeds now says that we believe in tomorrow and that change can come. Second, it gives us something to do, which combats those feelings of helplessness and loss of control. Third, we plant our gardens in this season so that we will bear fruit in another season. So as we endure, we plant our seeds like diligent and nurturing gardeners.

What seeds are you planting right now? What are you working on right now that has you in a waiting period or with unanswered questions?

Maybe you’re planning your child’s surgery. Perhaps you’re helping them try a new medication, pursuing a clinical trial, trying a new feeding system, or reaching out to a scientist or researcher. Maybe you’re trialing a new piece of equipment, looking for a new specialist or expert, or awaiting test results. Perhaps you’re waiting on a miracle.

Let’s face it, planting seeds is hard work. Sometimes we are down on our hands and knees in the mud, with dirt under our fingernails, sweat rolling down our faces, and our backs aching from the bending. This planting season is no easy stage. Not only is it strenuous, committed work, but we don’t always see immediate results. We don’t know if it will bear fruit. It requires faith. It requires hope.

So little of this rare life is in our control. But we plant anyways. Then we wait. And the waiting can be painstaking too. But we continue to water and tend to our seedlings. We love them and nurture them. This is a mother’s love.

So if you are in a season of motherhood that looks like enduring or waiting, I just want to encourage you that this is good work right here, this planting season. This is essential work. Yes, it is difficult, but sometimes we cultivate parts of our character in these hard waiting and planting seasons. Find our grit.  Find our capacity to hold on. Find our fortitude.

It’s often when I marvel at rare mamas most. When I see you In the quiet challenging moments of waiting and yet remaining faithful and diligent when I know you are tired and tattered and even torn. Yet you remain faithful under fire.

This is such an honest expression of your love. It’s motherhood in its truest and most beautiful form. I know not everyone can see it. It’s not shiny and picture worthy.

It’s small little planted seeds that lead to changes sometimes only you can see. Maybe it’s a feeding success, a better care team that truly understands your child, a piece of equipment that gives your child more access, or a surgery that relieves pain or provides more mobility. And I know you went through so much to attain it. You planted so many seeds along the way, and you toiled for hours and hours before the bearing of fruit.

My guess is that it will bear fruit within you, too, growing parts of your character that you’re proud of. But It’s hard to see that when you’re in it. I want nothing more than this season to end because it isn’t pretty when I’m in it.  I’m sure it doesn’t bring out the best in me when I’m stressed, overwhelmed, waiting on answers, planting seeds down in the dirt while snarling, stomping around, punching the air, and kicking the garbage can. When I’m in it, I want nothing to do with it, but when I look back, I can usually see that my strength has grown, my resilience has grown, and my hope has increased, as evidenced by the fact that I kept getting out of bed each morning and doing the work.  Now because I’ve done it, and I’ve endured, I know I can go and do it again.  So maybe I’m not only helping my kid, but I’m blossoming too. As mothers, our character is a work in progress. It’s growing all the time, So we are tending and nurturing that too.

Whatever season of motherhood you are in, I want to encourage you. And if you’re in a season of planting and enduring, I want to reassure you that the work you’re doing is so significant. Our faithfulness today is preparing us to bear fruit tomorrow

On Mother’s Day, my fellow planters, I pray the winter and the rain cease, the sun breaks through, that you begin to witness the emergence of tiny green sprouts, that your season of planting bears fruit, and before too long, you see its blooms.

Happy Mother’s Day from one rare mama to another. Much love to you all!