Not For the Faint-Hearted

 The gardener of this English manor house describes his agricultural duties at this historic place and notes with an apparently rueful laugh, "This is definitely not a garden for the faint-hearted." I guess one could contend all gardens take a certain amount of dedication and perseverance to deal with, but it seems that this one requires an extra bit of fortitude than most. The soil is less than desirable and gets waterlogged in winter, hard as concrete in summer. Winds come roaring in from the sea and get trapped inside the hills, causing much damage. There is much working against this particular groundskeeper's efforts, including that of deer, rabbits, and squirrels who want to cause their own havoc on the place. Yet... for the last thirty years, this man has faithfully been showing up and tending to his botanical responsibility and, as the article states, "he clearly has a deep affection for his difficult charge." Otherwise, why would he stay at it for so long?        

Something about this struck me. I am not a big plant person, although I love looking at flowers and growing things. Gardening has never been my strong suit or big interest. But time and time again, I've returned to agricultural metaphors to describe the ongoing process of rebirth in my soul. The analogy of the garden has seemed to be fitting on many an occasion when I've needed a tangible reminder of the inner work I am living through. Strangely enough, all throughout this particular year, the idea of renewal has been a theme. Back in January, God had given me a promise that this would be the year of my Spring. The Winter years had felt like they dragged on for forever. It felt like they would never end. Time and again it seemed as though one was investing in a hope that was dead - watering a seed that might never come up. 

Yet, almost immediately after receiving that promise, I could feel a shift starting to happen. Out of the blue, opportunities started to come up and things began to move around in my life. Not everything that surfaced ended up coming to fruition, but the confirmation was there: life was stirring below the surface in ways I couldn't see. By the summer, there began to be a popping up of green chutes that gave me assurance that this was, indeed, the beginning of my Spring. Miracles wrapped around simple responses of faith on my part as God blessed the broken years and began to do something new. Oddly enough, around the time of my birthday, it seemed all the warm wishes of friends were centering around this metaphor of "blooming." 

As I've thought about the inner garden of my heart, I have been struck by the patience of my Master Gardener who has continued to show up faithfully all these years. Like the gardener at the manor house, He has embraced all of the elements and nuances and complexities of my being tended to them out of the affection of His heart. He has embraced me because He loves me. As the man noted about the garden he tends, "It takes awhile to work out how it all fits together... It is not a large garden, but it can feel like a bit of a labyrinth." Indeed. From my own view, trying to sort out the intricacies of my soul have felt that way too. If it had been me all this time, I probably would've walked away from myself long ago. I would've given up. Sometimes just the work of trying to obey and be faithful and cooperate with God has felt like too much, let alone being the all-seeing, all-knowing One who is charge. Quitting would've been the easier way out. 

But the Gardener has stayed. Year after year. Day after day. He's never been late to work. Never not shown up. Not even once. When my soil has been saturated or parched, He's drained or watered me as needed. When the winds have roared in and ripped apart my trees and branches or the rains have pummeled my blossoms, He has lovingly pruned and replanted and made me useful and beautiful once again. When the frosts have driven deep or the rodents have tried to eat me to pieces, He has protected and warmed and comforted me. After all this, I am still standing. I'm still here. 

Like the cool of a rainy day, I feel the Spring is a bit slowed at the moment. The shadows and droplets of grief and tears have come for a brief stay, bringing some grey into my life for now. I've been here before. Often, in fact. This almost seems more normal than the days of sunshine, to be honest. Yet, the Gardener is still here. He's propping up my sagging stems, hedging about my exposed spaces, going about His good work with delight, even as the clouds gather and it seems a bit stormy. I have nothing to fear because He is here. That I know, and that I take solace in. Life, as well as this garden of mine, is not for the faint of heart and oh, am I glad that He who never grows weary is the One whom I can trust to care for me.