Their bowing papered skeletons eclipsed the Spring day. The once lively blooms of my hydrangea plant had long been dried up, crisping into thin ghosts that waved with the breeze. Growing up, my family had a large row of flourishing hydrangeas, their leafy bushes reaching well up to chin height. Seeing my one withered plant, I realize how I took those prosperous bushes for granted. Today, as I was looking forlornly at my hydrangea, I saw something that formed the words I've been wanting to say in this time of uncertainty.

The past few days I've had more time to spend in my garden. The lack of blooms on my daffodils and the jagged outstretched arms of my baren hydrangea tempt me to shoulder the gloom of our impending sheltered days. I hear the pain in many of your stories - no income, storefront rent to pay, mouths to feed more often, an uncertain end nowhere in sight. I've had thoughts without the words to express them and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel some threads of worry creeping up to tie around my shoulders too. Gardening has been a respite for me during this time.

So as I sat, knees in the moist soil looking forlornly at my hydrangea, the muddled feelings I’ve been trying to clarify and articulate began to gain some clarity.

There is Hope, bittersweet hope.

There’s a lot of uncertainty for every human and, in delicate times like these, it’s important that people aren’t - and don’t feel - forgotten, dismissed, unheard, unseen or unloved. To my scared parents and mompreneurs, my friends who find themselves home alone and more isolated than ever, my fellow entrepreneurs, micro businesses and all those who have and are building something (so worth while) on your backs … I SO wish I could hug you right now.

We may feel like the jagged arms of my hydrangea, better days behind us with a dreary and uncertain future ahead. Many of us are facing times that may mean closing our doors - not just shuttering them - or are seemingly losing everything we’ve worked so hard for to build a life and a future.

I want to softly remind you of this : we were built for this.

I firmly believe that we were all created with unique gifts with which we can contribute to our community. In some of us, the stubborn spirit of endurance rages strong. Many of us who resonate with that statement are entrepreneurs, hustlers and builders. We thrive on the drive inside us to make our community better, to build something that’s a lasting establishment and the dream of supporting our family. We’re used to hearing “no,” to rising against the nay-sayers and rebelling against the current. We are used to failing over and over again - and getting back up. We are used to making mistakes repeatedly. We’re also used to getting knocked down, having to face wall after wall of obstacles and finding our way around them - because we believe something will work, that we will MAKE it work.

Many of us have suffered and struggled in pursuit of building something that will share future fruits. And that is what I saw today on the baren-looking, gnarled branches of my hydrangea : a small bud of hope; a message that there are mountaintops to our valleys. a reminder of redemption.

Leaves may fall of, branches may bow and wither, wells may dry up but roots will grow deeper, spread out wider and, eventually, we will bud again, become lush with leaves and be skeletons no longer.

Paper Skeletons | Built for This

Jasper & Fern