Why the Dandelion Still Means Everything

I’ve been drawn to dandelions for a long time.

It started years ago, during one of the hardest seasons of my life. I had been through multiple miscarriages and I was grieving, searching, trying to make sense of a kind of pain that doesn’t have clean edges. Out of that ache, I started something called The Harlex Company.

Harlex stood for Hope after Real Life Experiences.
It was more than a name. It was a lifeline for me. It became a quiet promise that even when life doesn’t go the way you imagined, there’s still beauty ahead. There’s still purpose and there’s still something to hold on to.

I’ve loved dandelions since I was a kid. Always fascinated by finding one and picking it up to blow on it and make a wish. Watching the white feathered pieces flitter all over the place and chasing them till they would land. I think dandelions are most famous for that but as my life has grown and I’ve gained more experiences it’s always been a symbol for me. Especially a symbol of hope.

I love that they aren’t fancy or polished and that they grow in places no one expects. That even when they are blown apart, they don’t end… it is just a new beginning for them.
Every seed, carried by the wind, holds a future. A chance to root. A new story waiting to be told.
That image meant everything to me then and still does.

But something has shifted for me recently. Not in what the dandelion means but in how deeply I understand it now.

Back then, it represented hope, the kind that rises quietly after heartbreak.
Now, it also represents growth, the kind that doesn’t erase what came before, but builds on it.
The kind that refines, multiplies, and roots down even deeper.

This new chapter of the Savor Society and creating soul-tied gatherings… it’s not a start-from-scratch moment. It’s a continuation. A soft unfolding of what began years ago that is now just blooming in new ways.

The dandelion still speaks to me and maybe even more now then ever before.
It reminds me that healing doesn’t always mean rebuilding from the ground up.
Sometimes it means scattering what no longer fits and letting God replant the rest in places and people we never saw coming.

And get this…one of the things thats most special to me is that dandelions rarely grow alone.
They come back in clusters, in quiet communities, in whole fields of softness and strength.

That’s what I hope this next season becomes, and not just for me, but for the women I gather with:
A place to land.
A space to root.
A reminder that even after real life breaks us open… there is still hope.
There is still more.

And that we’re stronger when we grow together.

A poem about what the Dandelion Means to me now

She Is the Dandelion

She grows where others wouldn’t dare
in broken soil, in heavy air.
No spotlight, no applause required,
just quiet strength that’s never tired.

She bends, but she does not erase
the roots that brought her to this place.
Her rising comes in softer ways
refined through storms, not swept away.

She lets the wind do what it must,
releasing dreams with sacred trust.
Each seed she sends is not the end
it’s part of healing, round the bend.

Not fragile,  she is formed by grace,
returning strong in every space.
She carries all she's been and seen
not starting over, just growing clean.

So when you wear her near your heart,
remember this: you are that part
of something wiser, brave, and true
becoming more, and more like you.