Watering the Garden with the water of Life.

I stand with hose in hand spraying the waters of life onto the humble piece of Eden that is my yard. Peeking from behind the forest of lavender are tiny pansies brilliant with expletive colour, winking at me like mischevious imps. I apologize to them for feeding them in the late afternoon. The gospel according to HGTV.com says that I need to water in the wee hours of the morning. Alas, I am working, and cannot depend on my dear other to carry out the task. The flowers seem to understand. I feel like Adam- tending the innocent and trusting photosynthetic congregation of sprouts. Beets- obediently growing in perfect rows, leaves curling upward in the repose of slumber. I apologize to the bevy of beans and squash- for exposing their leaves to the shower of glorious wetness at the wrong time of day, and silently pray that God will protect them from fungal menaces that may stalk them as a result of my ignorance. So far they seem to have survived, but as with parenthood, the guilt that arises from ignorant mistakes hangs like a cobweb over my joy. If only I had known…….
The foxglove, bowed over like a penitent, sheds its cargo of seeds for next years new beginnings. Calendula, spread like a carpet, weaves its way through the maze that is punctuated with dahlias, forget-me-nots, daisies of unknown origin, and curry plants. I know that there are several clumps of wildflowers, but their time has not yet come to burst forth in their glory. And then there are the roses- the great prima donas of the floral world….
In the backyard, radishes declare their hot and spicy presense, popping up in diverse places- (once a biologist, always a biologist)- as I indulge my mad tendencies to experiment with light and soil and moisture.
I understand why God shows up in garden settings- why He chose the cool of the day to search for the company of those first horticulturalists. Gardens are poetry in synthesis- miniature universes where the drama of life and death, birth, decay, renewal, and balance are played out. Our lives are a garden, tended in love by the cultivation of relationships- blessed by holy waters, by Holy Spirit- and by the perseverance of watching, weeding, and waiting for fruit.

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