Sunday Morning Serenity

I don't know why it took me so long to understand why my mother loves to garden. Chalk it up to years of apartment dwelling, I guess. Once I bought my first house and had an actual yard, some sort of switch flipped inside me. I wanted to plant and weed and watch things grow, to cut flowers from very own garden and maybe cook from my own summer harvest. (That last part still hasn't happened, but I remain hopeful :) 

My garden has been sorely neglected—as in, I haven't planted it yet—because my weekends have been consumed with work. But yesterday, I stole a few hours to plant shop and at least got three banana plants in the ground. Dave and I love the way they rustle in the wind, and I refuse to give up that summertime sound, no matter how busy I am. Our roses are blooming, and the cannas are inching up out of the ground. It's as if they're saying to me, "Go on about your business—we know what to do."

It makes sense to me that the first home of humanity was a garden: "Now the Lord God had planted a garden in the east, in Eden; and there he put the man he had formed (Genesis 2:8)."  Jesus describes Himself as divine cultivation: "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener (John 15:1)."

What could be a more perfect metaphor for our spiritual walk than gardening? We weed out what doesn't need to be there, nurture and share what brings beauty and joy, labor diligently but recognize that our hands alone can't produce anything without the earth and the sun and the rain.

I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses;
And the voice I hear,
Falling on my ear,
The Son of God discloses.
And he walks with me,
And he talks with me,
And he tells me I am his own,
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.

[From "In the Garden," words and music by C. Ausinn Miles, 1868-1946]

Comments

[Candy Hicks]

Lovely, Thanks for sharing your peace. HUGS :)