Through Stained Glass: A Walk Through My Garden

It does not escape me that my name is Adam. Growing up, I heard all the terrible garden jokes. Folx would ask me, "Hey, Adam, what are you growing this year?" Or, "Hey, Adam, how is Eve?" Garden talk has always been a part of my experience. 

The garden talk didn't stop with my name. 

My grandparents had extensive gardens at their homestead in London Mills. I believe after my grandpa had a severe heart attack, he and my grandma wanted to 'move to the country.' Whether or not the garden was a part of their vision, they always had one, and subsequently would be a part of my vision. 

One of my memories of those gardens is when I was real little. There is a home video out there of me walking dejectedly through one of their gardens dragging a whiffle ball bat crying. My dad, who was videotaping, asked me, "Hey, Duke [my nickname]. What's wrong?" I reply with big crocodile tears falling from my eyes, and a little bit of drama, "Doze tids [I couldn't pronounce my k's] won't let me play wif them." While I'm sure my grandma would have comforted me, she probably would have made a point to let me know that I didn't have to walk through her plants.  I remember their gardens and the way their corn would tower over me and the many jams they'd sell during different roadside events. Their gardens were paradise for me.

I have a garden now. And I've managed to produce some decent tomatoes, okra, and peppers. Eating *fruit* from my own garden is special. It is a miracle.

Yet the plants that bring me the most joy are the flowers. Most of which I didn't even plant. Rose of Sharon's, Trumpet flowers, a Hibiscus plant I purchased at Ace on clearance, and sunflowers--volunteers [and the ones I actually did sow myself]. These little bursts of beauties bring me so much joy. When it isn't so hot out, I like to end my day throwing a tennis ball to Tecumseh while walking from one group to the next. I talk to them. I listen to them between barks from the dog and chirps from the Robins. They are lovely creatures who teach me a lot about being. 

Watching them, I discover daily that they give glory to God by being flowers. It reminds me of that Merton quote, "A tree gives glory to God by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be it is obeying Him….The more a tree is like itself, the more it is like [God]...."

After I commune with the flowers, I take their pictures. I have so many pictures of flowers on my phone, but they change every day. These singers in God's choir of creation teach me about life and death, holding on and letting go. Their lives remind me of what Jesus says,

As the flowers fade, God's love remains. Always.

My flower garden isn't much.

My flower garden is by no means anything compared to Monet's Giverny. [I've been there!]

But flowers like this little one hang out outside in my backyard.

I look out my windows and see this beauty in all its glory. 

Their sunny faces opening up to me and greeting me with joy.

And these will be the photos I return to when the nights last longer than the days. 

These are the offerings of hope I'll return to when the darkness gets too much, and I'll remember what they taught me: even when things are dark, light and love will soon bloom once more. 

At that moment, it'll be enough. I'll know peace--I'll experience paradise.

And visions of my garden will remind me that I too am enough--precisely as I am. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

Take heart, friends. God's love is everlasting. And that is the best news!