I am a gardener, after my mother’s example.
I remember the simple script, hung by a nail next to the
sugar canister: “Bloom where you are planted” -
a red geranium sketched in the bottom left corner. It hung in the five-bedroom
house, the one with the father who went to work and the mother who made a home
and the children who arrived to her greeting after school. It hung also in the two-bedroom
house, the one with the mother who went to work and the children whose keys
unlocked a silent kitchen and the father who came on Saturdays.
Both houses were mine. When I was nine years old, my parents’
divorce was final, and our family, like so many others, was left to make sense
of the aftermath.
The conference ends and a woman approaches me at the podium.
She is on the verge of tears. She has approached
me before – no, not her, but ten others with the same question brimming in the
corners of their eyes. I have spoken for almost an hour, but she remembers one passing
detail: “You come from a broken home. Thank you for saying it.”
“Broken home” - the term is hers, not mine. A single mother,
worried that her children will be consumed by the devastation of her failed marriage,
that their trajectory is faithlessness, bitterness and sorrow. She sees me and
wants to know: how did you bloom?
What formula I can offer? The fracturing of a marriage can
look many ways. There are no hard and fast rules for how to cobble together
hope. I can only tell my story, one shaped by three gifts my parents gave.
The first, of course, was a great deal of prayer. On my
behalf, across many years.
The second was a great deal of selflessness on the part of
both of my parents, and my stepmother as well. All three of my parents gave me
permission to love and cherish all three of my parents. They treated one
another with mutual respect, both in their words and actions. I was not asked
to choose one parent over another. When a marriage fails, the resulting web of relationships
is not always made up of honorable people. By the grace of God, mine was. I
knew they had deep hurt toward each other, that thirty five years later they
still do. But I knew they placed my relationship needs above their own hurt.
The third gift, astonishingly, was a high view of marriage. Who
would believe it? But no one in my family would say that divorce is a simple
solution to a difficult marriage. It never gets easy, never stops aching, never
slips completely into past-tense. It is a measure of absolute last resort.
Rather than teach me to hold my marriage lightly, my parents taught me to hold
it in high regard, to enter into it with care, to guard it with determination.
An incomplete account, of limited help, but my story
nonetheless. I feel deep gratitude toward my parents, somehow able to recognize
that just because their marriage was a failure didn’t mean that their divorce
had to be. Finding their family planted in rocky soil, they determined, as far
as it was possible with them, to help us bloom.
I have been blessed with three devoted parents, but I
believe - and have witnessed - that even one devoted parent can foster blooms
in the desert. Do I come from a broken home? I do. And so do all of us, I
suppose. I have known more love and respect, more kindness, more selfless
pursuit of relationship in my “broken home” than many know in their traditional
families. Take heart in this, mother in the aftermath – a failed marriage does not
doom you to a failed family. No malediction guides your course. Surely the
grace of God is for homes both broken and intact. Surely, if any of us blooms,
we do so by that grace alone.
I am a gardener, after my mother’s example. And my
step-mother’s as well, truth be told. I carry a sentimental attachment to a
particular flower, tracing back to my childhood, to a sign on a nail next to a
canister of sugar. My yard spills over with geraniums. The Victorians assigned
a meaning to that blossom - though other flowers symbolize peace or healing,
the geranium symbolizes folly.
A fitting emblem for this child of divorce, this child of
God. For it is folly to believe that something whole can come from something
broken. Yet God chooses what is foolish in this world to shame the wise. He
chooses the weak, the low, the despised. He chooses the broken. And these,
against all logic, he redeems. Mother of a “broken home”, lift up your eyes. Find
hope in the folly of the gospel - it is for you. Ask the Father to give all
that is needful, all that is good.
I pray hope and wholeness bud beneath His care. I pray you
and those you cherish bloom.
So encouraged by this. Thank you for your honesty and truch.
ReplyDeleteAs always, beautiful words Jennifer. I've shared this via FB with my Christian Mompreneur sisterhood group because I know the issue of divorce often challenges their faith. I love how you pay tribute to three wonderful and amazing parents!
ReplyDeleteReally lovely. In my worst days of unbelief I experience shame with regards to where I came from, but then I remember all is grace. Thank you for reminding me again.
ReplyDeleteHi Jen,
ReplyDeleteWas just listening to a Matt Chandler sermon podcast (just love his sermons) and he mentioned your blog, so had to come check it out. It is lovely and you write beautifully. Adding it to my favorites!
Thank for you such a beautiful post, and one that I so needed to hear! I have struggled so with my parents' divorce, and it is good to be reminded of the blessings sown throughout my own childhood, fractured as it was. Thank you for your honesty.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful encouragement.😊
ReplyDelete