Hi there 

One of my fondest childhood memories is also, to my recollection, my first memory. It was a beautiful sunny day and my father took my sisters and me outside to see the money that had grown on the ‘money tree’. There were notes stuck on branches of the fat, round bushy tree and coins were lying all around its trunk. 

“Money grows on trees,” he told us. 

It was not true, of course. I, however, chose to believe him for the longest time.

Although the seed was planted when I was so very impressionable, I grew up and eventually discovered that someone who I looked up to and trusted with all my heart had told me a silly tale. He planted a seed and left it to grow, with or without his knowing of the impact his statement had ever made on me.

As the years passed, other seeds were planted too.

“You only succeed if you work very, very hard,” was planted in the baron garden of my beliefs.

“You are Jewish, which means you have to believe in this or that,” grew in the corner of my belief garden and so did many other seeds about life, love, success and myself.

Before long, I was tending a garden of beliefs that was scattered with seeds I had simply gathered along my life journey. I watered them with my fears and tossed the soil with my blind acceptance.

“You are incomplete if you don’t experience the gift of having a child,” sprung up between the shrubs of relationship seeds that were planted by family, friends and society.

“You have to fit in somewhere and define yourself within some frame of reference, Jodene,” blossomed into a frightfully big evergreen in the centre of my garden of beliefs.

“That’s not how you make a living.”

“That’s not an appropriate statement.”

“That’s not a healthy attitude.”

“That’s not a healed approach to life.”

“That’s not’s,” grew throughout my garden of beliefs at such a rapid rate that it began to overrun any pretty flowers I had planted and watered with love, hope and self worth.

In time I was lucky enough to realise that I needed to tend my garden. 

I began to pull out the that’s not’s and plant my own seeds. Seeds of dreams, seeds of hope and seeds of happiness. I planted them under the shade of the trees that had been growing for years. Sadly, even though I watered the seeds of dreams, hope and happiness, they could not blossom at will and had to adapt to the surroundings of the well established trees of belief.

Confidence grew but could not be seen through the dense leaves of past criticism.

Beauty flourished but was overshadowed by the thick bark of old imperfections.

Wisdom blossomed but spread thin along the damp earth of childhood ridicule.

From where I stood I saw the pretty flowers of dreams and happily watered the beautiful blossoms of self worth. I tended the trees of beauty and wisdom and pulled out the ‘that’s not’s’ as soon as I saw them grow again.

What I did not realise was how everyone else was seeing my garden of beliefs. You see, when they stood at the gate and peaked in, the first things that caught their eye were the oldest and grandest trees of them all. The ones that had been growing since I was just a child and overshadowed the burst of colour and pretty flowers that they shaded. Those seeds were planted long ago and I was so focused on planting new dreams and happiness and pulling out the obvious ‘that’s not’s’, that I missed something very important about gardening in my beliefs: while watering my hopes and dreams, I was also feeding my old beliefs. 

As I fed the earth that nurtured my beauty, the big old tree ate off the same fertiliser. Even though I chose my own seeds I hadn’t noticed that I chose to plant them under the shade of old beliefs and trees that had been planted by everyone else but me.

This very important realisation came to light while battling to comprehend why I am very easily influenced by what other people think is good for me or, in most cases, bad for me. 

My garden is filled with happiness and self worth.

So why do so many only notice the branches of relationship crisis, an imperfect physical appearance, think I am neurotic, think I thrive on crisis and most often than not ... a doormat to everyone else and totally selfish to my own needs?

Well, that is the shade of the big tree, you see.

The memory of old clouds the blossoms of my content in what I define as happiness in my relationship choices.

The picture in my mind of a hefty girl with braces and glasses tarnishes the beauty I now embrace.

The fight for attention while I was growing up obviously still lingers, even though I am noticed and appreciated just as I am. Of course I am. I planted that seed after all.

It all blossoms and flourishes, yet, whenever anyone comes to visit my garden and stares through the gates before entering, they see the pretty flowers but always point out the big tree; a tree that grows, but which I have long stopped consciously tending or nurturing, yet it has been there for so long that it overshadows my new beliefs every once in a while.

Before I return to tending my garden, I’d like to share a few tips with you in order for your own garden of beliefs to flourish:

The old seeds of belief will never truly go away, even if you stop watering them. They have grown into huge big trees but they don’t have to overshadow the seeds you choose to plant.

It doesn’t matter how many seeds other people planted, remember that you can choose any seeds to plant and nurture.

When people see the old trees, and many might, don’t forget about all the seeds you planted. Those are the ones you need to focus on even when totally overshadowed by the leaves of doubt.

For many, you have learned to show the world the pretty flowers you chose to plant but ignoring the fact that the big trees are there will still limit where and how your dreams grow.

Don’t forget to weed the garden and get rid of the ‘have not’s’. They are all the little beliefs that grow and are sometimes disguised as your own little seeds.

Don’t ever try tend someone else’s garden, because you’ll neglect your own and leave the gate open for others to plant unwanted seeds all over again.

Take the time to know the difference between the ‘have not’s’ and your own seeds, because far too often we pull out the wrong plant and don’t even leave the tiniest root of remembrance.

Before I go back to tending my garden and watering my blossoming dreams and happiness, I would like to offer you one little seed. Plant this seed at the entrance to your garden of beliefs so you never forget to pass it by. This is the seed of discretion. This will help you to take a careful look at all that you say and do to others – for until you have tended your own garden and distinguished the ‘have not’s’ from the blossoming flowers, be reminded that the initial seeds which have grown into overshadowing trees in your own garden were once planted by someone who was not tending their own.

Contemplate this …

Seeds grow where you plant them.

Greg’s View on relating to yourself and others

There are two large old oak trees that live in a park near to me. This is their story.

The groundsman from the park authorities was given the task of planting another park designed by an experienced landscaper. He had been a landscaper for years and was very good at this work and got great pleasure from seeing his parks grow over the years. He always loved planting oak trees because of how big they grew and their broad canopy. Today would be no different: the plan called for the planting of oak trees in the park he was to plant.

He dutifully instructed his team to prepare the soil in the area where the trees were to be planted. They tilled the soil and watered the area well. They dug a big hole and poured in some fertiliser and compost to make sure that the trees’ roots took. They placed the first little sapling in its hole and closed it up.

Now it was time for the second oak to be planted. The groundsman paced out a sufficient distance and instructed his team to dig another hole. This hole was prepared the same way as the other and the second oak sapling was tenderly placed into it.

After many years of growth, the two oak trees stood very proud and independent in the park. Many birds roosted in them and people sat in the coolness of their shady canopies.

Eventually, despite the groundsman’s attempts to space the trees far enough apart, the two trees grew together, their branches intertwining. This did not bother the trees, which simply adjusted their growth to accommodate the other, while they both continued to grow. 

Every now and then there would be a storm with strong winds that would cause the trees’ branches to part and then come back together again. Neither tree had a problem with this and neither resisted the movement brought on by the wind. The trees parted and moved together again, parted and moved together. Every time there was wind this parting and moving together would happen and the trees would continue to grow and host their own brooding pairs of birds and insects. Each would continue to draw their own water and nutrients from the soil and absorb their own carbon dioxide and produce their own oxygen. Each tree would photosynthesise their own sunlight. 

One particularly stormy evening the wind blew so hard that the intertwining branches started hitting against each other really hard, yet the trees did not try to stop this. The wind continued to blow and the branches continued to hit against each other until, eventually, the main branch of the one could take it no longer and broke and crashed to the ground.

In the morning, people gathered to inspect the storm damage and pitied the tree as it stood there with its one branch severed and lying on the ground. It looked sad and pitiful in the morning sunlight. The park authorities came by during the day and removed the broken branch and cleared all the other debris from the park and a week later no one could even tell there had been a storm. The two trees stood proudly next to each other, basking in the sunlight and continuing to grow. Yet there was a distinct difference from before the storm. The two trees still looked the same healthy, proud oak trees but there was something different. Only regular visitors to the park recognised the difference: the trees were no longer intertwined. There was a gap between them wide enough for a pigeon to fly through. The sun shone between them and the rain fell gently through the gap. Other than that there was nothing different about the trees and they continue to grow as they always have, until one day they will grow no more. And, quite possibly, if they choose to, their branches will once again intertwine and they will experience one another once again. And they will be fine either way for they know that they are there in the park to produce acorns so that other oak trees can grow and for animals to live in them and for people to sit in their shade. This they are certain of and so it is not important whether their branches intertwine or not. It doesn’t matter if their roots venture into the same soil. They continue to grow regardless.

We can learn from these oak trees. They know what they want to do and understand that this all that is important. Therefore they can intertwine with each other quite comfortably, they can be blown by the wind and their branches can part and move back together effortlessly, and they can be parted forever and this does not change that they are an oak tree in a park producing acorns and shade. 

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With blossoming dreams

Jodene & Greg