THE IRIS: A PERENNIAL SYMBOL OF A MOTHER'S LOVE

Dear Mama,

It's hard to believe you've been gone almost eight years now, or has it been nine. I lose count; it seems so long ago, yet it seems that you left only a few days ago. Mother's Day is coming around again this year, and you know it is always a hard time for me. June 15th is a difficult day as well, the anniversary of the day you left. You left, but you left me with so many wonderful memories. Sometimes they make me sad, but I'm grateful to have them just the same.

I'm doing okay, Mom. Wouldn't want you to worry. Little bit of financial trouble these days, since the state cut the budget for my field, but I have a little job that pays the bills most of the time. When it doesn't quite do it, family steps in, just like you'd want them to do. I'm writing a lot, and usually pretty happy in spite of losing my career, but lately I've been a little down, even resentful for no good reason. I blamed it on finances, but tonight I read a hub, and discovered (remembered) that it's almost Mother's Day again. Why do I forget these dates, but feel them inside as if I know something is wrong, but can't quite figure out what? Are you talking to me? Is God sending some message? Or does my subconscious just know when these dates are near? They catch me off guard every year.

One thing you left me with was a strong faith, but it has sort of died down some in your absence. I have major problems with the God of the Old Testament, but I don't want to believe you don't exist somewhere anymore. I have to believe someone or something is out there taking care of you and Daddy, and that we'll see each other again. I'm still living in the old cabin, and so much of each of you is here.

You're going to laugh at this one, but I finally decided to do the yard. It hasn't gotten much care, you know, since you left us. I've never been the gardener you were. Do you remember how I would clip weeds only after you assured me they weren't flowers. I couldn't tell the difference if they weren't blooming. I still can't, but you aren't here to tell me anymore, so I have to just hope for the best. But I have a confession to make. This weekend, I accidently cut down one of your flowers with the weed whacker. it was an accident, I promise. I lovingly brought it inside and put it in a vase I gave you years ago. And guess what? It bloomed. I took two pictures that I'm including in this Mother's Day hub.

It occurred to me that you planted these perennials that come up every year to remind me that you were here, and maybe still are, and loved me, and maybe still do. You were never happier than when in your garden. How I hope you are still there. You quoted many times a saying that goes something like this: One is never closer to God than when in a garden. And it was certainly true of you. You had more bright colors splattered throughout our yard than an artist could spill from an easel. And they keep coming up every year, in spite of my neglect. It is as if they are patiently waiting for me to tend to them. Is that how the faith is, Mama? Does God patiently wait for our return? I certainly hope God is like that, Mama. Sort of like the Iris and you.

I went through four years of Seminary, Mama, and there was a lot of pressure on me to know things I'm just not sure are true. I had to stop lying to myself and others, in order to believe anything at all. I don't know exactly what I believe, but I know what I want to believe. You never took all those courses, and had people telling you what you were supposed to believe. Perhaps that is why faith came so easy for you. You kept it so simple, like God is love, and that sort of thing.

You didn't spend a lot of time fearing that if you didn't know something for sure, or didn't believe the right way, God was going to send you to eternal damnation. It never occurred to you that God might send you to hell for being wrong about some theological detail, or that you might have never really been "saved" at all, if you persisted in sin without feeling particularly bad about it. But then, you weren't that exacting about sin anyway. You didn't dissect every little thought and milk it for guilt. You just loved, and obeyed the golden rule, and figured God would treat you the same. If you were here, you could fix my faith problem in a matter of seconds, with a little laugh, by telling me I was being silly, and making things more difficult than they had to be. But you're not here, and I have a tendency to over complicate things.

But the flowers keep coming up, and this year I am going to keep the yard nice. I have returned to the garden, and placed the Iris in the vase by our window. Maybe I've also returned to the faith. Maybe the faith, the grace thing, is about believing you don't have to "know" anything. Maybe faith is about believing God waits like the flowers for our return, and keeps things simple like you did. Maybe I don't have to be sure about anything at all. Maybe I can just believe the two of you are sending me the flowers every year to let me know you are lovingly waiting, that you know about my doubts and that they are what faith is all about, that they are okay. I certainly hope so.

So maybe when my dogs wag their tails, or the cats act like cats do, and the Iris sits in my window just being a flower, maybe that is God speaking to me. If the Old Testament confuses, maybe I don't have to worry about the Old Testament. Maybe God doesn't impose programmed thinking on his creation. Maybe it is meant to be understood as a parable. But there I go again, trying to know more than I can know. And Mama, certainly I don't have to lie about what I'm not sure of, since the Bible also condemns a lying tongue. Do I have to be politically correct with the far right to be okay with my creator, and say exactly what they say you ought to say? Even if I said exactly what they say I should say, I wouldn't really believe it, so I would be lying. Gosh, I want to see you again. I hope God accepts me as I am.

Anyway, Happy Mother's day. Wherever you are, I hope it really is a better place and that there are flowers there, because I can't imagine you being content without flowers. But if its heaven, of course there are flowers, and dogs and cats, and puppies and kittens. And they never die. That is what I want to believe. That God is gentle, not angry or jealous, signs of insecurity, or threatening or vengeful. I've been abused enough down here; I don't need an abusive God. It wouldn't be heaven if you have to walk on eggshells to keep God from throwing you into the pits of hell. Even I am nicer than that, and so are you, so how can I expect any less from God. I just want to be where you are, and I don't want us to have to whisper behind God's back to keep him from getting upset. Certainly, he is a bigger God than that!

So, I hope you like this Mother's Day note, and will tell Daddy and God hello for me. Pet Snow Angel, Fancy, Ginger, my Ginger's namesake, Jake, and of course, Pete, and tell him Fluffy says hello. Ya'll keep sending the perennials, but then, I think that's already programmed, and doesn't take special effort. I'm sending you a picture of the cabin, along with the Iris photos, and hope you like the pine straw I'm putting on the ground. I miss you and Dad so much, and hope to hear from both of you, and God real soon. But then, you've been speaking through the perennials, the cats, and the dogs all along, so I can't complain. Just help me feel your presence, especially when I'm missing your support and money is tight. Keep in touch.

Love, and Happy Mother's Day again,

Valerie

AZALEAS: ABUNDANT DISPLAYS OF SPRING COLOR: CLICK LINK BELOW TO READ:

http://hubpages.com/_2pvzhao591xs4/hub/AZALEAS-LAVISH-DISPLAY-OF-SPRING

Below is the link to a hub I wrote about my mother: THINKING SMALL: LITTLE KINDNESSES THAT CHANGE THE WORLD. I have included the link to the hub here as a tribute to her. Please click below to read it.

http://hubpages.com/_2pvzhao591xs4/hub/THINKING-SMALL-LITTLE-KINDNESSES-THAT-CHANGE-THE-WORLD

THE ROCK: A POEM WRITTEN TO MAMA

http://hubpages.com/_2pvzhao591xs4/hub/THE-ROCK-A-LYRIC-TO-MY-MOTHER

MAMA: A LOVE SONG TO MAMA

http://hubpages.com/_2pvzhao591xs4/hub/MAMA-A-SONG-LYRIC

RUNNING ON EMPTY: A STORY OF GRIEF AND UNDESERVED MERCY:

http://hubpages.com/_2pvzhao591xs4/hub/RUNNING-ON-EMPTY-A-STORY-OF-GRACE-AND-UNDESERVED-MERCY