LESSONS IN THE GARDEN 11

DROPPED SEEDS

As long as I can remember, my mom has anticipated Spring with great enthusiasm.  She watches for her jonquils to poke their heads up and proclaim that winter is almost over.  Our gardens provide a sanctuary, a place where expected-and unexpected things happen.  We expect our spring bulbs to show up and announce the coming of Spring and our roses to bloom each year.  We anticipate the fragrance of freshly cut grass and cypress mulch. The Doves return with their beautiful songs and remind us that "mating for life" is a beautiful thing.

The garden is also a place of unexpected surprises.  One of my favorites is the larkspur that showed up near my bench-from seed dropped by someone other than me-a bird?  the wind?  Another is the Greek oregano that finds a new place to root itself every year.

Family is kind of like that-a place of expected and unexpected blessings.  

I expect to have Christmas with my family every year sometime before the actual day.  We all have our usual places to sit and the youngest opens first.  That's our tradition-I look forward to that night the way Mom looks forward to her jonquils.

I expected our kids to grow into kind, productive adults because we worked hard to sow seeds of kindness, faith, and hard work into their lives. We prayed fervently.  And I marvel at who they have become.  

But like the garden, the seeds that were dropped unintentionally have grown into the most beautiful blessings.  The people who touched our kids-teachers, friends, family-in ways that nurtured their souls and kindled their hearts.  The unplanned conversations in the car that brought us together.  The church family and friends who helped to parent and teach each others children.   Their dad's unique sense of humor and his incredible gift of seeing the truth in turbulence.  For these I am thankful.

When I put my grand daughter to bed one night, she wanted to  sing, "He's Still Working on Me."  I sang it with her-as I had with her Mom so many years ago.  Seeds of blessing.

GETTING YOUR HANDS DIRTY

I've heard the old saying, "He/she don't wanna get his/her hands dirty" my whole life.  And I've known people who don't.  Kids who want to watch TV rather than go outside and play.  Men who don't want to mow their own grass.  Nurses who can't wait to "do their time" so they can get some kind of an office job.  Funny thing is, without getting your hands dirty (literally or metaphorically) you don't get much done.

My Dad has big hands.  They have always spoken strength to me.  They are rough to the touch from years of farming, fixing things, scrubbing things and mowing, mowing, mowing.  These same strong, rough hands gently guided me through my childhood.  They held my newborn babies with tenderness and now my grandbabies. 

 My grandbabies Mommy and Daddy tell them that hands are meant for love.  What a beautiful sentence. 


These pictures remind me to reach for joy and for love.










Sometimes our hands get dirty.  When we garden, work, clean, paint....and sometimes they get dirty on the inside. 

But they are meant for love. 


And someday, Jesus will reach for our hands.  And they won't get dirty.

LESSONS IN THE GARDEN 10

 ANNUALS AND PERENNIALS

When I dug my first flower bed, I was excited to plant something that would look pretty immediately.  I wondered the aisles at the Home Depot Garden Center, wondering how anyone knew what to buy.  I ended up buying daisies, because they are my all time favorite flower and a few flowers the man at Home Depot told me were annuals.  He said if you wanted instant color and interest, you needed a few annuals. I have learned that he was right.  Annuals last only a season, but they are usually bright and pretty and add that sort of "oh look at that" feel to a garden.

My mother in law (I hate calling her that-she is way too precious to be an in law) taught me about perennials.  She said they were the best because they came back year after  year like old friends. She dug up some of her precious day lilies and they became some of the first of my "old friends."  They come up every spring and remind me of who sparked my obsession with gardening.

Today I was noticing some of my plants are turning colors-yellow, gold, brown...getting ready to die back for winter.  At the same time, the fall bloomers are at their best.  It occurred to me how like life that is. 

 Some of us are in the season of dying back-preparing for a winter.  We may need to shed a few leaves (responsibilities, relationships) to enter our winter.  There is beauty in that.  Reflecting on a life well lived and being thankful for the people we love-that is sacred.

Others of us are in a season of blooming-building relationships, families, careers.  We may need to lean on a trellis for support.  There is beauty in that.  Recognizing our need for God and others is a powerful thing.

And some of us are in a season that we do not recognize.  The winds have come.  The blooms have faded.  It is the perennials around us that give us hope-The people who love us, the music that speaks to us, the stars that keep coming out at night.  There is beauty in that-believing that our old friends will keep coming back brings comfort.

LESSONS IN THE GARDEN 9

FALL BLESSINGS

It had been two weeks of unexpected complications, nothing life-threatening but definitely life-challenging; that kind of experience that leaves you tired, a little off center and maybe even a little depressed.

I had awakened to that perfect fall day-cool, crisp and sunny with a bright, almost sapphire sky.  And best of all-an energy I could not explain. For the first time in two weeks, I felt good.


With my dog perched in his usual gardening position-on a long leash in the front yard, I began mowing, happy to be doing something physical.  Something useful.  Something I enjoyed.


A neighbor stopped her car across the street, got out and asked me if her son could mow my yard for free.  She quickly explained he needed to do twelve hours of community service and could he please mow my yard to help him get started.  My limited experience with kids and "community service" involved church youth groups, National Honor Society and traffic tickets. I asked if he was in  NHS and she said, "No he's been in trouble."  Of course by now I'd lost precious garden time, agreed to let a "troubled teen" mow my yard and who knew what kind of trouble he was going to bring me.  Ugh. 


"Terri",  my newly acquainted neighbor quickly came back, got out and thanked me profusely for allowing her son to help me.  The passenger door opened and out stepped a very young, fresh-faced, young man with a big smile and sparkling blue eyes. "Oh great, Eddie Haskell is here," I thought to myself.  Please.  He came over, offered a hand to shake and introduced himself.  He politely thanked me for helping him out and asked where he could start.  After explaining where and how I would like the yard mowed, "Johnny" took off like a man with a mission.  The mower wouldn't start.  So he began to help me trim bushes.  I found him to be an enjoyable gardening companion, despite my efforts to just get this project over with.  He was so honest it took me aback a little.

Johnny was in drug rehab.  He explained how he'd moved to the neighborhood and started a new school-shy, didn't know anybody and wound up with the wrong kind of friends.  He talked about how the people at  his "school" were kind, helpful and firm.  He told me he fought a lot with his mom.  My heart began to melt.  We talked about making mistakes, consequences and forgiveness.   He talked about what a cool dog I had and about his golden retriever, now gone.  About his Dad, who passed away last Christmas. 

The mower started.  The kid mowed like he was trying out for the mowing olympics.   It seemed important to him to do a good job.  And he did.

As he sipped his Pepsi ( the only payment the program allowed), he said, "The program is good, but they can't do it for me.  It's me that has to do the right thing."

Candid.  Wise.  Sweet. I was glad the mower didn't start earlier, that my unexplained energy showed up on this particular day, that my dog loves all people-and that I had a new friend.

LESSONS IN THE GARDEN 8

 SOMETIMES WE JUST NEED SOME GREEN

In March of 2010, just a few weeks after the earthquake, I joined a group of health care professionals led by a well respected Trauma Surgeon whom I had worked with for over twenty years.  The group consisted of nurses, CRNA's, several lay people who just wanted to serve and a young family practice resident-different ages, experiences, educations, beliefs.  Common denominator:  the deep desire to DO something- a call that went beyond what any of us could put into words.
The Haitians had lost their homes, their health, their loved ones, their arms, legs, mental acuity, sanity...

What we thought was a "medical mission" to operate, recover, drill, repair, wash, medicate, and "fix" things became a spiritual mission to relate-to engage, to learn and to serve.  We wept, cleaned, medicated, prayed, sang operated, recovered, fed, clothed, and admired-what courage, dignity and faith these people lived.  And giving?  Really???  These patients received two meals a day-donated by a service group.  Without exception, each meal was received with gratitude.  And every time, whoever was in the room with them-their family or even the other patient's family-was invited to share the food.  And every time, this too, was received and accepted with gratitude.  I saw as many as four people eat from one plate of food-and all with a thankful heart.  I will never forget that-the humility, the thankfulness and the total lack of self pity.  THEY blessed US.

It's easy to think others are so blessed to have "us" (the church, the US, the wealthy...whatever) that we miss how others bless us with WHO, now WHAT they are. 

This little green (sort of) patch was our quiet place.  It was the place that gave us hope-little sprouts of life coming up between patches of dead grass and forgotten trash.  Trees that had survived what the poorly built homes could not. 

And best of all-our new Haitian friends could be heard singing from here-through the open corridors of the hospital, from their seats around the  "garden' and as they wondered around the grounds finding their inner strength they sang.  They sang when they grieved.  They sang when they received good news.  They sang to comfort each other.  And their voices blended and spoke to us, though we could not understand the words.  Our heart heard.

LESSONS IN THE GARDEN 7

COOLER TIMES

 It's fall-that time when the colors are more vibrant, the sky bluer and the air fresher.  There are some pretty scraggly plants in my garden from the Texas heat of July and August.  The weeds are out of control because it got too hot to do much about them.  But the joy of the fall garden is the deep purples and blues and bright yellows of the berries and flowers, and the cooler day and brighter skies.  Somehow even the moon seems happier.

There is always a fall at the end of an intense, hot summer.  

LESSONS IN THE GARDEN 6

   CELEBRATING MORE THAN A BIRTHDAY

This week marks another Birthday in our family.  But unlike the previous ones, we do not remember the day of the birth-there isn't any trying to remember what the exact time was or who came to the hospital.  This time we have only the gratitude that she was born at all, and that our precious daughter and son (in law) were willing to listen to that still small voice-the one that whispers His love into our hearts.  And having heard-obeyed.

As I wonder through my little garden, I admire some of the fall foliage that returns each year, reminding me of those who have given me cuttings and seeds from their own gardens. My wonderful mother in law-the queen of the green thumb- has provided me with more cuttings, seeds, hints and encouragement than I can count. And it's nice that I will have a piece of her in my garden always.   Oddly, I no longer remember exactly who or where some of my "transplants"  came from- though I try.  They have become so much a part of MY garden, that their origin doesn't matter.

And Marisol Elizabeth is so much a part of our hearts, her origin of birth is irrelevant.

LESSONS IN THE GARDEN 5

 STOP AND....

It takes a lot of work to create a "natural" garden.  If it looks too natural, it's what my daughter once referred to as my "jungle."  If it's too orderly, it doesn't fit into the kind of natural, meadow feel I love.  It's a sort of plant this and that, add a few of these, and pull up what doesn't work approach-my artistic outlet.
Sometimes, as in all areas of my life, I forget to pause.  I pull weeds, trim a few things, water, move, sort, mulch, gather, share and generally wear myself out with all of this fun.

But it's in the pause that joy comes. 

LESSONS IN THE GARDEN 4

ONE WOMAN'S WEED....


Pulling weeds is not my idea of fun.  But it is therapeutic.  Very.  There are many hurt feelings, looks, sighs, and frustrations that have died a slow death in a weed pile in my yard.  And I was healthier for it.  Besides...it's better than driving to a gym and working out next to some tiny thing in a pink leotard.

But what one person considers a weed, another may consider a treasure.  The ground cover here, called Frog Fruit (I have no idea why) is listed as a weed in some books.  It grows wild, spreads easily and needs very little water.  So for me, it is a nice addition to a xeriscaped side yard. It has tiny little white flowers that kind of just show up sometimes; uninvited.  They ask for nothing-no water, no mulch, no special raised bed.  They just bloom when the plant is left to grow as it was intended.

Sometimes I think we want to weed out people that don't fit into our landscape.  They aren't as pretty as the roses nor do they stand proud like the gladiolas.  They don't want the environment  we think they need -instead they prefer their own (rather odd to us) surroundings.  What if we encouraged  them to grow as they were intended, rather than as we wished?  

THIRTY-ONE YEARS

This week our son, Christopher Michael turned 31.  In another country.  Across the ocean.  In another language.  The day before his actual US birthday.  
  
How does  a Mom reconcile the distance-when a phone call is not so simple?  When typhoons powerful enough to make national news are an all too frequent event in his new home ("they're not that big of a deal").   When family gatherings are minus one.  When three little girls are growing so fast-and he is missing the daily changes?

She remembers-treasures pictures, art work, bits of conversation that remain nestled in the special parts of her brain and heart labeled "Forever Mine."  And Skype becomes the new normal.

I love you, Chris

Lesson 3

LESSONS IN THE GARDEN

Companion Planting

For centuries gardeners have used companion planting-the idea that certain plants, when planted near one another, thrive.  The Native Americans sowed the "three sisters" together-maze(corn) grew alongside pole beans, using them as a sort of trellis to climb on.  The beans in turn, enriched the soil with nitrogen. Squash was a sort of ground cover that helped keep the roots shaded and moist. In some areas sunflowers were planted a little distance away to attract aphids away from the other crops.  

One of the joys of the garden is watching things work together.  I let a group of weeds grow naturally in the back of one of my small beds.  The grasshoppers love it and seem to forget about my more attractive plants.

I am blessed to be growing alongside the companion I married.  He holds me up when I am weak, nurtures me when I am hungry and shelters me from the storms.  We often find ourselves so "trellised" together than it is difficult to tell where one begins and one ends.  And together we flourish.

 

LESSONS LEARNED IN THE GARDEN

In the garden  things wait-the plants wait for water, the butterflies wait for blooms, the birds wait for worms.  

During the hot Texas summer when rains are rare, my roses divert the nutrients and water to feed the essentials-the roots and base of the plant.  They stop working on things they can afford to lose-the pretty things.  And as they wait, they are neither lovely nor inviting, but they are healthy.

In our dry seasons, we would do well to conserve our energies for the essentials.  And to wait for rain.

But they who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary.  They shall walk and not faint.  (Isaiah 40:31)

 SPIRITUAL LESSONS LEARNED IN THE GARDEN

 

 

 

September 9, 2012

It occurs to me  that life beginning in a garden was no accident. Whether allegorical or literal, the story is one of deliberate creativity-of intentional planning.  That man came from the earth causes me to smile-my husband and son being formed from "dirt"...... It also causes me pause-to wonder silently, and reverently before my creator.

The man and woman were given everything in their garden, save one tree. They were lavished with fruit to eat, aromas to savor and beauty to behold. They also  were given responsibility-to care for their home, to nurture, to feed and to enjoy what lay before them. And the Lord walked with them there.

The significance of this last thought has comforted me during many a lonely time--and as I walked in my garden, I beckoned Him walk with me too.  And He has.