With five young kids in tow, you were always more likely to find me in the car than in the garden. The closest I came to gardening was righting the flowers I had run over when rushing to our next destination- LATE. I always wished for a middle name; perhaps that might be fitting!

My fondness for flowers did lead to one attempt...gone awry. One early fall day I had our youngest child, Nicole next to me as I planted hyacinth bulbs along our sidewalk. I was ensconced: she had other plans. Suddenly it came to my awareness that cars were routinely honking each time they passed. Thinking she was her effusive, friendly self, I assumed she was waving. As I glanced over at her, suddenly things went south- including her clothes! Nicole had taken off everything, including her socks.

As the kids grew older and were driving (me, nuts and themselves to activities) I began noticing nature in an entirely different way. Little did I know my bulb-planting would take on an unexpected, enriching experience; one that continues to this day, and hopefully the rest of my life.

Life was not always as rosy as it seemed throughout those child rearing years. While teachers, friends, and relatives unanimously found our children to be well behaved, witty and the epitome of respectful, I was hiding a big secret only my sweet husband knew. It took everything I had to hold together my fissured heart. I contemplated suicide on most days, from my waking moment until my head met my pillow. Sadly, not even my pillow could help me with the sleep I desperately needed. Nightmares plagued me, even permeating my daily endeavors.

Did I mention I was emotionally abused by my mother? Did I also forget the part about my child psychiatrist father never stepping in to protect me?

While you can read my entire story in my memoir Room in the Heart; Surviving a Childhood Undone, Fulfilling a Pact to Love, I must share the event which led me to find healing. While therapists guided me in working through my exquisitely painful childhood, I had to find a way to release my pain and anger. I was determined to spare my children from my heinous childhood; I wanted to give them the love and the experiences I missed. Under the guise of adopting a menagerie of animals for the kids to learn responsibility and commitment, our chickens, ducks, sheep, llamas and their offspring gave me the opportunity to nurture and protect vulnerable living things. Each new birth on our small gentleman's farm brought celebration to my soul. Still, I needed more. That "more" came one Easter when I bought several daffodil plants at a firehouse fundraiser. I couldn't wait to get home to plant them.

It was inconsequential that I lacked gardening gear; using my kitchen serving spoon, I dug holes and gave my daffodils a new home. While using my hands to pat down the earth around them, it occurred to me: as I buried my flowering bulbs, I was also laying my pain to rest. I was free. Serendipitously, absent gardening gloves, I found nurturing and nourishment from the connection between the soil and my soul.

From such an unlikely place, I found healing. Fortuitously at the most glorious Christian celebration the year, I found my own rebirth. The pieces of me that had withered and died suddenly embodied all that teems with life. Dirty from digging, my hands never looked so beautiful to me. They held the fertile, sweet sustainer of life. My life.