Since my dad passed away, I have had the privilege of going through all his papers. He saved them all. In fact, if there hadn’t been a mudslide into our parent’s basement one year, ruining multiple boxes, I imagine it would be many years before I would be done.
I am sure he saved most of them because he didn’t know what might be valuable to other people in the future. For some of them he was right, because they will end up in the section of the library at Penn State dedicated to his study of Utopias. Others, he probably just didn’t know what to do with.
One day going through a box, I found seeds. Yes, seeds. Flower seeds carefully labeled and put into envelopes dated Nov. 12, 92, November 5, 97, and December 5, 99. Two dwarf hollyhocks and one calendula.
I wish I knew the story behind these seeds, but I know that next year when I start seeds in the spring I will be planting them.
Seeds are like ideas. Sometimes we put them away and forget where they are, and sometimes it is someone else that finds the idea and plants them for us.
We often forget that we are all gardeners of life. We are constantly planting seeds through our words, thoughts, and actions.
Walking through our life gardens, we will always find seeds that were planted there by someone else. Sometimes those seeds were weeds, and we now have to go through our life garden and root them out.
Others were seeds that remained dormant until the soil of our life was properly prepared for its germination. These seeds have bloomed and blossomed into our thoughts, and therefore our lives, making our life garden more beautiful then we could have imagined. Sometimes seeds have sprouted and we don’t notice them until we stroll down our life garden admiring what has grown.
In my garden, I have planted a variety of flowers and plants, and I am constantly adding more. Each plant brings what only it can bring to the garden. Even if I plant 10 roses, each rose plant, each rose, will be its own unique individuality. Observing this, it is easy to see that beyond what the five senses know, lies the rose’s true substance.
That substance is the idea itself, and that idea originates in the only place it could originate, within the infinite Mind. As hard as it may be to imagine what that means, it is even harder to imagine that it isn’t the truth of all that we experience.
Take away an idea, there is nothing, have an idea; there must be an originator of it. That originator or creator of all is the Master Gardener of each unique expression of life. We are Its ideas; we are each an essence brought to Its garden. Not one is the same, and without all Its ideas, the garden is not complete.
As we accept this truth, and let the Master Gardener care for our life, the seeds we provide for others become more and more valuable and beautiful because they no longer carry any vestige of false ideas, or weeds.
As we let the Master Gardener guide our actions, the pruning, and weeding that we do in our lives is done to reveal the beauty that has already been provided.
My dad planted many seeds, not just for our family, and myself but also for his students, and his colleagues, and his friends. Don’t we all have treasured memories of others who nurtured our lives, composted our garden, pulled out some weeds, watered some wilted plants, and pointed out gifts, or ideas, we didn’t know we had.
It’s important to realize that we are also doing that for others either intentionally, or by simply living our lives. In honor of those who have helped our life gardens to grow, we can all choose to eliminate the seeds of despair, lack, fear, blame, envy, and greed, and instead follow the Master Gardener’s plan, and plant only the seeds of what is good, pure, useful, and beautiful.
PS:
(If you wish to see what is blooming in my garden on Father’s Day click here. Read the post called Blooming On Father’s Day. There is also a postscript on the More Squirrel post if you were following his story .. )
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As a teen, I caused my father LOADS of grief in my rebellion towards my independence. I’d say there were times when my father was ‘this close’ to putting me into a girl’s home. Those years had many disagreements, and the times when I pushed too hard, he pushed back. Years later, in my late 20s, he one day called me and wanted to talk. I was not sure what he wanted, but for Dad to make this request, I figured something was wrong.I went to his home and he was sitting there with a bottle of Crown Royal and two shot glasses. Dad was not a drinker, and he knew I sure wasn’t, but he said “C’mon and have a shot with your father” I hesitated, and he said “How often do you have a drink with your dad?” Well, usually it’s iced tea, Dad.
I sat down, he poured the two glasses, and what happened next was one of the most amazing experiences I had with my father. We drank the toast, and he talked to me with most concern…about my teen years he told me how sorry he was. He felt he had been ‘too hard’ on me at times and was seeking forgiveness for events from over fifteen years earlier. I confessed that I was way out of order back then, fighting their rules every chance I had. We then just forgave each other (not that either of us held any bitterness between us by now). He told me how proud he was of me and my life and my outlook. I told him that I needed that tough love back then…otherwise where would I be today? I figured if he had not been that tough, I may have taken some bad direction and had a life of trouble. I thanked him for the discipline. And we enjoyed even more conversation about the now, the future, and life today. I felt such acceptance, such real love, and a tighter bond than my childhood days when he would take me fishing or picking mushrooms or the time he sat on the porch swing with us kids during a thunderstorm, explaining lightning and thunder to a girl of five.
This grown-up moment was the greatest of our relationship, and when he died in 1992 I felt a void like never before. Now I remember the wonderful times that still softly swirl around in my head whenever I think of him. He protected me, was always there to help me, and I miss him to this day.
Thank you, Beca, for this opportunity to tell the world what he meant to me!
Jan, this is an amazing story. Thank you so much for sharing it!!!!
I know what it is like to miss ones dad. My dad passed in 2002, and I still miss him very much. My dad was my hero. I did not realize this until recently. I wish I could have told him to his face how much he meant to me. We were not that vocal in our family about our true feelings. I hope that somehow he knows how I feel about him.
Our fathers do have a big impact on our lives.
Dennis, I am sure you dad does know you feel about him!
Beautiful Ezine Beca, A wonderful tribute to the true male essence!
Oh Mesa .. thank you!!
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