As we sow in the lives of our children, day in and day out, we do not see phenomenal changes. But then, as those children mature, they are “scattered” abroad to take root and revive our immortality, sowing in the lives of their children the things we sowed into theirs. Speaking words that we spoke; practicing traditions that we practiced; serving as we served; passing on the love of God that burned in our hearts.
I watched my little 3-year old daughter giggle and blow a fluffy, white dandelion bald; the final glory of the once golden flower left effortlessly, and floated away to unforeseen places, where the tiny seeds, in the same image of the flower they left, will germinate and then sprout up green and strong again. Isn’t God’s way remarkable?
A mother is much like a dandelion. Her life, too, is only temporary. We will one day return to the ground just like the stem of that dandelion. But do we not, while we are here, have the brief opportunity to reproduce and plant the seeds of a whole new generation?
And so, we need always to keep etched in the forefront or our minds, the powerful responsibility of our work as mothers, looking ahead to all the hundreds, yes thousands of little seeds bearing our image that will be planted after we are gone. And that vision will keep us vigilant against a world that is frightened of that power, and therefore seeks to stifle it.
Dandelions and mothers—yes, they are much the same. Let every dandelion you blow be such a reminder.
(Reposted from archives)