Springtime in the Rockies brings heavy, dense snow that blankets the ground and trees, burdening the smallest pine trees with a weight they can hardly bear. When the snow hits, I often look out the window and assess how my little pines are doing. Mostly I look and see that they are going to be okay, but on some occasions, I see that the snow is simply too heavy and I go and relieve my little trees of just enough of that snow, that they will emerge victorious after the storm passes. Sometimes the tree will long bear the marks of its time in the storm: It is bent, short a branch that it had before, it looks tired, and needs some reprieve from the elements until it gets its strength back.
I have come to find meaning in this scene as it pertains to my role as a mom. I cannot prevent the storm, sometimes I have to watch, hope, pray that it will be gentle and pass quickly. Sometimes it does, other times it seems relentless. After the storm, my job is to make sure that the weight is being managed okay, that it is not too much, and to aid where I can in lightening the weight of the burden in a way that is helpful and careful. Sometimes, scars and pain remain. Sometimes our kids though not broken, are bent and tired and we must help to brush off some of that heavy snow that has built up in the storm.