“As for man, his days are as grass; As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth” (Psalm 103: 15)
One of my son’s was talking about his college classes. His U.S. History teacher he said, “She’s really old – like 50 or 60.”
I arched an eye-brow, “Really old? 50?”
There’s sadistic enjoyment in sometimes helping your children shove their feet in their mouths a little further – just so they realize it’s there. They don’t consider me really, really old – but they really don’t consider me 52. Strong as an ox? indomitable? They think I am. I guess when you’re raising boys to be strong men, they expect their mothers and fathers to be as strong as the standard they set.
Walking through my yard after picking some tomatoes from the garden, watching butterflies on the zinnias that finally bloomed, my eyes fell on my hydrangea blossom – and I thought – I want to grow old like that.
I want to grow old like a blue hydrangea.
Budding green flowerheads in summertime’s morning sun
White tender soul petals emerge, opening
roots reaching for a holy spirit water source
for an unquenchable thirst
in the harshness of a summertime life
day by day as year by year
iron will infuses light baby
to cerulean blue tender still
vibrant, intense full of life blue
for a season, for a span
until petals toughen like paper hide
in an afternoon shade the blossom fades
into grace of more than just
antique greens, grandma rose pinks and dusty blues
its life redeemed into something worth keeping
reedeemed and gathered up before winter’s frost,
stored into darkness to dry for days
as sweet reminders of hope
in the midst of someone else’s winter.
Wow. I’m your neighbor on the weekend brew. Smell that coffee? Good. Just loved you post. I want what you want. I would like to share this over at The Consilium – A Collective Where Wisdom Meets Grace. Would you please join the community? I think you would contribute so much.
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This is so poignant and beautiful. Gorgeous photo as well. Thank you for sharing.
Bah! Kids and their definition of old. I’m 51. Love the beautiful peom of the hydrangea. The photo is amazing!
I love blue hydrangeas so much, they were my wedding bouquet years ago. You described them beautifully!
I love hydrangeas! At the point when one would think the season is done, they turn color and are even more beautiful than when they began. We cut them & bring them inside, dry them out & they are re-purposed. May we realize as we grow [[older]] that as long as we are drawing breath, we are here for a reason. Grateful to have stopped here from Still Saturday this morning. Blessings!
This beautiful idea, so eloquently said, will go in my Intentional Living folder. It is a treasure to read again and again and a reminder of intentionally growing as I continue my journey on earth. Thank you.
Me too!
I love the line “reminders of hope in someone else’s winter”. You never know what people are going through, and we should always be grace to them.
I am 63 and definitely don’t consider myself old. My mom who is 90 says she refuses to be old. She had a friend who just passed away at the ripe young age of 108. It is after all only numbers. I want to age like a beautiful hydrangea, too 🙂
xo
Laura
Hydrangeas are one of my favorites flowers. I have never had any luck getting one to grow at my place though. Lovely poem.
Beautiful! I also want to grow old and I love the connection we have of being in our 50s. May your week be full of blessings!
“sweet reminders of hope in the midst of someone else’s winter.” yes… beautiful and profound. Thank you so much for this. Stopped by from Lisha’s place tonight.
Beautiful words… images… thoughts. I’m so glad you stopped by and left your sweet comment so I could find my way here. I love to *meet* other knitters. hee hee. 😉 blessings ~ tanna
ps I love the name of your blog.
Your words always drop deep into my soul. I love hydrangeas and will always think of your poignant words when I see one. ~Pamela
Is that hydrangea one from your garden, Maryleigh? It’s breathtaking! I love hydrangeas but this one seems to be a “rainbow” hydrangea! So lovely! And yes, our kids do tend to think anything 40 or older is decrepit! One day you’ll be snickering when your sons are being called old by your grandkids! 🙂 Hugs to you, friend!
Really beautiful thoughts. I just turned 60 – (how did that happen?!) – and yet, my all-grown-up sons still think I’m pretty viable! Sometimes I’ll tell them, “Hey, I’m older now.” They look at me like, “Yeah, so what?!” – but in a really good way! It’s nice to know that I’m still needed, that my counsel is still sought and appreciated, that my friendship is still cherished.
Yup, I wanna be a hydrangea, too!
This verse came to my mind:
“They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.” (Jeremiah 17:8, NIV)
GOD BLESS!
This is so beautiful. You know how I feel about mothering boys :). This summer, I read The Gift of the Sea by Ann Morrow Lindberg and I read the intro to my youngest where her daughter talks about how, in her early 70s, Ann hiked down and camped in the pit of a volcano with the rest of the family. My son said, “I think you’ll be like that, mom.” It was the best compliment.