When I open the back door to the deck to let Maisie out, I hear summer sounds, the cicadas singing in the trees. The birds finished their chorus hours earlier, gone now to other business, like searching for insects and pecking at the last seeds in the feeder. The squirrels will sneak their way up the deck railing later in the morning, and Maisie will find great delight in a dog’s purpose to chase them away.
The rooster next door is awake before the rest of the neighbors. He’s a handsome fellow, looking after the hens. Sometimes they wander into our yard in a free range sort of way. Early mornings, I hear his cock-a-doodles coming through the open kitchen window. Even on a humid morning, I need to hear the melodies of nature, their soothing sounds are a comforting balm.
The baby geese that entralled us in the cold of March are almost as large as their parents now. They still wander the land, rest in the shade of trees, and flap their wings wildly in the lake across the road. Perhaps they are exercising in preparation for their fall flight.
I tried a small wildflower experiment this spring. In April I scattered packs of purchased seeds, along with saved zennias, cock’s comb, sunflowers, and morning glory varieties. I watched them sprout and grow among apparent weeds. It was a wheat and tares situation, and I was hesitant to pull something that might actually become a flower.
Now, in August, there are zennias, cosmos, marigolds and other potentials sparkling like jewels in the sun. It makes me happy to observe my efforts. At the other end of this bed something edible is growing, vining over the little fence and into the yard. It appears to be a squash of sorts, a suprise I’ll wait to discover.
Even with the opressive heat and Kentucky humidity, there is beauty everywhere. We’ve enjoyed a few days of unseasonably cool nights and early mornings. It gladdens me to open windows, let the breeze freshen the indoors, a little wildness seeping in. The colorful variety of birds fly from little woods to bird feeders and back again. They always seem hungry. Hummingbirds zip from one side to the other checking each feeder, and butterflys drink necter from blossoms.
Dispite the on-going war of the weeds, each week something flowers in my garden of delight. Most recently surprise lilies are popping up randomly, Rose of Sharon in pink and white bloom on topiary trees, and one lone crept mytrle blooms stately along the property line.
Today Maisie found and investigated a tree frog under the wooden glider Sweet William built me years ago on some important birthday. I sit there sometimes to read and write. The scribbling of words are an effort to make sense and bring order to my thoughts. Sometimes I need to pull away from the ever-present list of necessary tasks. Surrounded by God’s creation, I breath deeper. My mind settles. Prayer comes easily.
In a crack of the driveway just beyond our garage door is a marigold. It looks green and healthy with several orange blooms. As I watered other plants suffering from the stifeling heat, I poured a little on the marigold only to watch the water run off on the blacktop. I wonder how it survives. Yet it does, and seems to flourish there by itself.
I marvel at the seed that somehow rolled away from soft earth of the garden into a crack in the drive. I would not have given it much of a chance. Yet it nesteled in and began to grow. This is resealiance, determination, tenacity.
A few years ago a phrase attributed to Lynda C. Fell was tossed about often: “Bloom where you are planted.” In other words, wherever you find yourself, make the best of it, think positively, find some joy whether or not you would have chosen this place.
I suppose the marigold-seed-turned flower was doing what seeds do, die in order to grow, and then become a flourishing plant.
“ . . . if [a seed] dies, it produces many seeds and seedlings and those seeds and their seedlings produce much fruit.” — John 12:24.
Could I be like the seed? What if I’m not in a nurturing environment? What if my surroundings are less than desireable? What if I’ve landed in a really hard place and I don’t want to be here at all? Is there hope even there?
There has to be hope.
Hope keeps us going. Hope that expects something good even though it is difficult gives us inspiriation to press on. And some days pressing on is pure determination. Put one foot in front of the other and do the next thing. It requires resileance, determination and tenactiy.
Hope as used in the Scripture is not blind faith in an uncertain outcome. It isn’t trying to muster a bright outlook in a negative circumstance. Hope is “according to the biblical usage . . . an indication of certainty . . . a strong and confident expectation . . . akin to trust and a confident expectation.“
“May Your unfailing love rest upon us, O Lord, even as we put our hope in you.” Psalm 33:22
This is hope you can cling to when the sweltering sun wears you down, when life feels unbearable, when disease threatens, when the future looks dim, when death changes everything. Hope works when your seed lands in the harsh and uwelcome environment of a blackened drive.
Though the seed dies, hope will produce life. Hope calls forth growth and fruit and beauty even in the imperfect, the flawed and impaired.
We live in a broken world where all of us are presented with challenges, hurts, and pains from which we think we cannot recover. Jesus Christ offers a hope that is a strong and confident expection. We can trust Him no matter what the weather brings.
Bloom where He plants you. I will do the same. And let’s hope together.
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