Photo Credit: hello-Julie/Creative Commons
I once attended church with a dear, silver-bunned matron who I thought was widowed. It wasn’t until many years later I learned the truth. “Maude” (not her real name) was divorced. It happened in the late 1950’s when anything less than marital bliss wasn’t discussed. At least openly.
After her divorce, Maude went on to work long hours in a laundry shop to support herself and her young sons. According to the rumor mill, Maude’s ex-husband was a “no-account.” A drinker. An abuser. A philanderer. A man without morals, principles, or honor.
Like many women during that era, Maude married young. She had starry-eyed fantasies about changing her husband, and besides–she loved him. He’d swept her off her feet with charm and falsehoods. When they finally divorced, Maude’s self-esteem was in shambles.
“You’re nothin’ and you’ll never be nothin’!” her husband told her.
Fast-forward about 40 years. I met Maude in the early 90’s. Over the next 15 or so years, I learned more about the kind, gentle soul who baked pies, raised chickens, and taught Sunday School. Though she kept her private life closeted, there was a shroud of sadness beneath her sweet smile. She never remarried so I suspected the past affected her in ways I couldn’t imagine.
One day, Maude invited me to her home. We didn’t live far from one another and I often drove by her place on my way to a favorite flea market.
Her white stucco house needed some attention. The roof sagged and the gutters drooped. Some of the windows were cracked. Still…there was something quaint and peaceful about her little abode.
As I pulled up into the barely-there graveled lane that sufficed as a driveway, I noticed Maude tending her prize peonies. (That was another thing I discovered about Maude–she enjoyed gardening and growing flowers. Her peonies, in particular, had garnered many awards and prizes at local fairs.)
I met her at the edge of her garden.
“Wow, Maude–these are gorgeous!”
She nudged the brim of her sunbonnet upward and smiled. “Why, thank you. I grow all varieties, you know. I love ’em all.”
(Next to lilacs, peonies are my absolute favorite flower. I think they’re beautiful and I adore their heavenly scent.)
Maude discovered my affinity for peonies and she wanted me to have several fresh cuttings that day. We visited as she pruned.
“He told me I’d never be nothin’. For a long time I believed that.” She swiped at her dampened brow. “But ya know…when I finally got the courage to leave him that day, I set out to prove him wrong. I made a way for myself and the boys. I survived. And along with my flowers, I grew a spine.”
“Oh, Maude…” I touched her arm, humbled by the rare glimpse into her past. “That you did.”
We talked some more and then Maude walked me to my car. Before I left with the flowers, Maude handed me a paper bag with some peony bulbs.
She gave me instructions on how to plant them. “They’re the easiest things in the world to grow.”
Except they weren’t. For me anyway.
When I planted the bulbs, nothing happened. I think the moles ate them. I never had the heart to tell Maude about it.
Maude passed away in recent years. Her home’s now occupied by new owners. The roof and gutters are repaired. The windows look new-ish. The grounds are green and the yard’s mowed. There are, however, no peonies.
Maude’s prize flowers are no more. Where there once was a lovely garden, there’s now a new patch of grass.
The spot looks a bit lonesome without the blanket of color that I’d grown accustomed to, but perhaps, the fact just really proves Maude’s point. Along with my flowers, I grew a spine… She left her mark upon this world. An indelible imprint, uniquely her own.
And despite hurtful words from one she once loved, Maude was “something.” She created beauty and gave it away for free.
Kind of like what God offers us.
Through salvation.
******
Is there a memory that’s left a lifelong impression on you?
Photo Credit: hello-Julie/Creative Commons
Blessings Always,
Comments 12
I’m up late — or early, it’s all perspective, isn’t it? — and saw your post in my inbox.
What a precious story.
And such truths woven through.
I have a small peony bush near my garage. When it blooms early next summer, I’ll think of you, Cynthia.
And how I’ve grown a spine too.
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Beth, I often think of “Maude,” the lives she touched, and the beautiful peonies she grew. I’m certain her rewards are great!
Our backbones do grow stronger through loss and hardships we endure. (And it certainly increases our faith, too…)
Nice post – and peonies seem to know if you’ve got a black thumb. I never got them growing.
The strongest spine I know is broken. It belongs to Bella, a ten-pound terrier who was hit by a car and left to drown in a flooded ditch. Her struggles attracted my wife’s attention as she was driving home a few weeks ago.
Now Bella has a wheelchair, and taking her out with the other dogs is something like the chariot race in Ben-Hur. She’s fast and fearless, and if she takes a spill she just laughs. I should add that we have a sanctuary for unwanted and abused Put Bulls, so most of Bella’s pals are close to ten times her size.
But that doesn’t stop her taking them on, and trying to run them down!
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Andrew, the moles and rabbits seem to snatch whatever I plant, but alas, I still try.
Oh, my heart goes out to Bella! God bless your wife for stopping that day! What a wonderful ministry you both have in helping God’s littlest creatures…
Great story. I’m thrilled to say that lovely fragrant apparently fragile but really hardy peonies flourish here in my farm flower garden. They get wind-tossed but survive. I also grew a spine.
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Delores, I’m so envious of your peonies! (In a Christian kinda way, of course!) =)
“They get wind-tossed but survive…” –Love that! How true!
Maude’s is a bittersweet story. So sad the peonies no longer grow there. Our next-to-last neighbor had so many pretty flowers. The new owner pays them no mind. It’s hard to see what once was, turned into something less.
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Patti, I’ve found that life changes and marches on. Not easy sometimes, but I believe that’s part of the life lesson…
I missed this post over the summer. Wonderful, Cynthia…
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Loree, thank you! Looking forward to seeing you soon!
I love the ending to this. It was wrapped up so beatifully, and the truth shone through. Thank you for sharing this!
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Brittany, thanks so much for visiting! ~Blessings