“PLEASE, stand next to the shopping cart! There are so many people here today I don’t want you to get lost!” I begged of my 7yo as we walked around the outdoor garden at the hardware store. All four members of the family were present for this Mother’s Day shopping trip. They were here to help me pick out flowers for my front porch.
Shopping for flowers and plants of any sort is one of my favorite things, however, I often do this type of shopping alone. But on this day, my boys wanted to gift me something I would truly love and so we spent a decent amount of time analyzing all the colorful petals of the different plants in the nursery, trying to find the perfect friend to bring home to adorn our home.
But alas, after 20 minutes the kids were done and I was so distracted by their hyped-up energy that tempers were growing short and the trip was losing its sweetness. In hopes of drawing our adventure to an end, I swept around to the backside of the property to do one last scan and found it, a yellow rose bush. When I saw it, my energy softened and the world stopped, I knew that this was the one. Not yet bloomed, I set it gently down into the cart knowing I had just invited a very special magic into my life and then whispered a quick prayer that my “not-so green thumb,” would do right by its potential. When we got home, I found the perfect spot in front of the house and settled the bush into its new forever home.
Time passed and I watched daily for signs of growth. You can imagine my excitement when a small bud appeared at the tippy-top of the bush, and while I had nothing to do with this miracle, I was more than honored to be a witness to its growth. I coveted its effort-full and yet effortless expansion. I doubted that this rose stayed up nights on end wondering if it should dare to build a bud at the end of its stem. It more than likely did not care what the bushes on either side of it thought about its process or the ground it was claiming in order to support its growth. It just continued to do what it was meant to do, merge into the flow of the seasons and flourish.
One day my kids came running inside the house, excitedly yelling that the rosebud was starting to reveal its brilliant yellow petals, and soon it would proudly display its full colorful magic to the world! Soon this flower would act as a beacon to all who benefit from its nourishment. The bees and bugs that coveted its nectar and transported its pollen to the rest of the world would soon be buzzing around and gathering all the goodness. But it had one last act… to bloom.
To me, there are two points in the life of a plant that takes the most effort and energy, the cracking open of the seed and the blooming of the bud. The cracking open of the seed is achieved through the remembrance of magic. It is a response to the spirit’s voice requesting again to engage with the cycles of the universe. This takes huge effort, energy, and resources.
The second point is the blooming of the bud. Every plant, at the end of its cycles, makes an offering to the world whether it be a flower, a fruit, seeds, or nuts and it does so with great velocity and care. It makes this offering without the promise of accolades or pays, it shares its truest self because it can’t not claim the full expression of its potential. And here we were, about to witness and observe the blooming of the offering and finding its efforts to be beyond inspiring!
I followed my children outside to gaze upon their discovery with equal wonderment and excitement. I knew that we were in the presence of the most ancient of miracles and we were watching the effort unfold before us. It created a sense of longing in my own heart to feel that ancient connection, to deepen trust in myself, to lean heavily on that same enthusiasm of being so certain of my deepest self that I can’t not share all of me with the world. It feels like such a struggle sometimes, doesn’t it? To quelch these longings to belong, to be satisfied, to feel worthy or connected. I feel often like I grapple with this process of loving all of me and living in my truth like I am constantly stuck at the precipice, uncertain of that next bold gesture that will usher me into the next revelation.
That evening, before bed, I took the dog out one last time and stood in the grass barefoot while I stared at the night sky and let the moon bath me in her loving energy, she told me to go look at the rose. As I peered closely in the dark, I saw that even under the night sky the rose was pushing onward, continuing to unveil and reveal herself to the world. I felt pressed to make an offering at the altar of this persistent rose, specifically to Mary Magdalene. So I grabbed some incense and lit it in a bowl. While the sweet scent filled the night sky, I asked to be imbibed with the tenacious softness of the rose’s unveiling and the quiet, steady love and power of Mary Magdalene.
Sitting in the quiet, I felt the energies swirl and was reminded that this was already true, that I am one in the same with this sweet rose and that I am being held always in the loving arms of Mary Magdalene, of spirit, of all that is. The reminder, the clarity, the next big “push” was in the dark silent of the night. It was not in bold action that the connection was made but instead in the sweetness of a tender moment surrounded by the elements and the keepers of the earth.
The next morning as I was crazily rushing the kids out of the house, I was stopped in my tracks by an unapologetically brilliant yellow rose swaying gently in the breeze. Overfilled with joy, I let out a giggle and my kids joined in the sweetness of her revealing. We danced and celebrated her arrival. We were so happy that she chose to share her wisdom with us.
Maybe, to the rest of the world, her becoming did not mean much, but to me, she was everything. She was the whole universe revealing herself before us and teaching us just how simple this process can be if we just remember and claim the sovereignty of who we are and this beautiful planet we find ourselves on in this lifetime.
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