IN WHICH: Joel reflects on some gardening
One of the things we do at the church is to put together a monthly newsletter in addition to the weekly email updates we send out. I write a little note "From the Pastor's Desk" thinking about the month, the season, or what have you that gets included in that newsletter. As I wrote this particular month's note, I realized that it was turning into something a bit more reflective, so I wanted to continue that thought here on the blog. To those for whom those two worlds intersect, you'll see a lot repeating itself from the newsletter - I promise, I'm not being (entirely) lazy and just copy-pasting from one to another, but I think I could have written an entire newsletter myself if I hadn't cut it short.
When we moved into the manse in August, as we realized that this little corner of South Lindell street was where we’d be calling home, one of the first things we noticed was a number of small metal signs stuck into the beds of mulch that surrounded the house. We learned that the previous pastor had been quite a green-thumb and had spent much of his time cultivating various different kinds of flowers and plants all around the outside of the house. As we looked at those little signs with the flower species and descriptions meticulously labeled, we realized that we were going to have a lot of learning to do come spring-time. I’ll be the first to confess - I’ve never been much of a gardener. The extent of my experience with planting and growing things was that I once grew some Marigolds out of a seed-packet that came with a Happy Meal when I was five or six. To my credit, I kept those marigolds going for several years, gathering up the seeds from their sleepy heads after their blooms had withered and fallen away at the end of their season, planting them anew and keeping them inside during the cold weather. Sure, there are some (Janis, especially, I've learned) who will say "So what? Marigolds are really just one step up from Dandelions... big whoop. But you try doing that when you're six and see what happens...
Anyway...
So as the first truly sunny and warm days started showing up after such a long and hard winter, we knew it was time to start. We took a look around the yard and started working things out as to what we would need to do - the leaves that had glided into the flower beds from the fall were still blanketing them and keeping them warm, but the shoots of plants that were already trying to come up through those leaves were having to struggle to do so. The flower beds were filled with dead, dried-out stalks from plants that had previously bloomed and were preparing to do so again. So we started the process of clearing things out - we carefully picked through the crocus-grass and cleared away the leaves, even as the crocuses were starting to herald the long-awaited Spring. I began to carefully snip away at the rose-bushes that climb the back deck, looking to cut away the dead growth and make room for the buds and blossoms that are still waiting to come. And as we kept clearing away the winter shrouds, we started to wonder at the different things that were lying underneath, waiting to surprise us by their discovery. Each new swipe with the rake took away a pile of dead leaves and revealed a sprouting bulb whose existence we hadn’t even expected. Each pass around the yard showed us something new starting to shoot up from the ground. We had to start asking - which are weeds and which are flowers we shouldn’t be pulling up? Each day that we kept working on clearing out those flower beds and making room for the things that were already growing, we started to see things taking shape, bit by bit, until we finally had the leaves taken care of, the old and moldy mulch cleared away, and as good a start on clearing the weeds as possible - though as we’re discovering, there are always a few more willing to pop up their heads after you think you’ve cleared them away!
Now it’s May and we’re starting to have a lot of mysteries solved in surprising and wonderful ways. Nearly every day, even if it's just two or three minutes, I’ll find myself taking a look around the house because there’s something new popping up, something else getting ready to bloom, something more to surprise us - we never thought we’d be so excited to see these flowers springing up all around the house, but as each one gets closer and closer to blooming, we can’t help but be curious and filled with wonder. We’re excited because we don’t know what will bloom from these bulbs, what the green shoots that have sprung up will contain for us to see. I guess we could have done some Google searching of what had been written on the little signs and we could know already... but I have to confess here: Caleb was "helping" us in the garden many afternoons and pulled a lot of the signs up. To be fair, too, many of them were faded from the weather and hard to read anyway. There are a lot of signs still up, but they're probably going to find their way out eventually, since toddlers like to pull and explore, too...
So we keep coming out to look. Janis will call me over and point to something we hadn't seen before and we'll both get excited because it's something new showing up that wasn't there before. I'll call her over to point at something that's finally blooming and we both share a moment as we admire and appreciate one more little mystery revealing itself to us. I never realized that a blooming Iris could be so exhilarating, or that discovering a tulip nestled inside a rose bush would be so much like uncovering a deep and hidden secret treasure, and yet each flower is exactly that.
And then I think a little further, and I realize - this will probably be the only spring (at least, here in Vandalia) that has such complete and total mystery and majesty for me. It's a bittersweet moment, when I think about it. While I'm starting to think that if every state has a season that makes it stand out, that Spring is probably Missouri's front-runner in my book right now... I don't know if there will ever be another spring while we live here quite like this one has been for me. Each year past this one, I've realized that there won't be quite the same mystery, the same surprise and excitement at each new thing that blooms in our yard. I'll never have the same experience of backing down the driveway and seeing those Irises in full bloom for the first time, of forgetting everything else that I had on my to-do list for that precious minute while I stopped to admire the appearance of blossoms that I had been waiting excitedly to see since late March when the green shoots started to poke through the yellowed remains of last season. I'll know that this corner of the house has this kind of flower, that the roses are this particular shade of red and that the strange star-bursts in the flower bed will produce this type of flower. And while I'm sure that the Spring next year will still hold a kind of exhilaration as things pop up and begin to sprout new life again, I know that it won't be quite as exciting as it has been this year, having everything so literally new for us. Maybe I should just hire someone to secretly plant new and different flowers each year...
But as I sit and reflect on this, I’ve realized - isn’t this also the story of our faith? As we dwell in this season of Eastertide, we’re celebrating that same sprouting of our own faith through the resurrection of Jesus Christ. We toiled through Lent and Holy Week, spending a season clearing away all the leaves, the moldy mulch, and the weeds that have all gathered up through the long and cold winter - and now we come to that Easter Sunday and we see the first budding shoots, the crocuses announcing, "Winter is over - Spring is here!" The daffodils break through, donning their robes of white and gold and the hyacinths and lilies spread their sweet incense through the air, heralding this season of new life. And we are surrounded by an air of mystery, of expectation and of holding our breath, waiting to see what will come from the life that is springing, the bulbs and shoots that have appeared out of the thawing ground and mulchy beds. What will this new growth look like? What will these sprouts, buds and blossoms reveal? This is the spirit of Eastertide - this waiting and wondering, this pointing "Look at that!" and staring in wonder at each new thing that develops, knowing that as each day goes on, a garden continues to bloom and grow.
When we moved into the manse in August, as we realized that this little corner of South Lindell street was where we’d be calling home, one of the first things we noticed was a number of small metal signs stuck into the beds of mulch that surrounded the house. We learned that the previous pastor had been quite a green-thumb and had spent much of his time cultivating various different kinds of flowers and plants all around the outside of the house. As we looked at those little signs with the flower species and descriptions meticulously labeled, we realized that we were going to have a lot of learning to do come spring-time. I’ll be the first to confess - I’ve never been much of a gardener. The extent of my experience with planting and growing things was that I once grew some Marigolds out of a seed-packet that came with a Happy Meal when I was five or six. To my credit, I kept those marigolds going for several years, gathering up the seeds from their sleepy heads after their blooms had withered and fallen away at the end of their season, planting them anew and keeping them inside during the cold weather. Sure, there are some (Janis, especially, I've learned) who will say "So what? Marigolds are really just one step up from Dandelions... big whoop. But you try doing that when you're six and see what happens...
Anyway...
So as the first truly sunny and warm days started showing up after such a long and hard winter, we knew it was time to start. We took a look around the yard and started working things out as to what we would need to do - the leaves that had glided into the flower beds from the fall were still blanketing them and keeping them warm, but the shoots of plants that were already trying to come up through those leaves were having to struggle to do so. The flower beds were filled with dead, dried-out stalks from plants that had previously bloomed and were preparing to do so again. So we started the process of clearing things out - we carefully picked through the crocus-grass and cleared away the leaves, even as the crocuses were starting to herald the long-awaited Spring. I began to carefully snip away at the rose-bushes that climb the back deck, looking to cut away the dead growth and make room for the buds and blossoms that are still waiting to come. And as we kept clearing away the winter shrouds, we started to wonder at the different things that were lying underneath, waiting to surprise us by their discovery. Each new swipe with the rake took away a pile of dead leaves and revealed a sprouting bulb whose existence we hadn’t even expected. Each pass around the yard showed us something new starting to shoot up from the ground. We had to start asking - which are weeds and which are flowers we shouldn’t be pulling up? Each day that we kept working on clearing out those flower beds and making room for the things that were already growing, we started to see things taking shape, bit by bit, until we finally had the leaves taken care of, the old and moldy mulch cleared away, and as good a start on clearing the weeds as possible - though as we’re discovering, there are always a few more willing to pop up their heads after you think you’ve cleared them away!
Now it’s May and we’re starting to have a lot of mysteries solved in surprising and wonderful ways. Nearly every day, even if it's just two or three minutes, I’ll find myself taking a look around the house because there’s something new popping up, something else getting ready to bloom, something more to surprise us - we never thought we’d be so excited to see these flowers springing up all around the house, but as each one gets closer and closer to blooming, we can’t help but be curious and filled with wonder. We’re excited because we don’t know what will bloom from these bulbs, what the green shoots that have sprung up will contain for us to see. I guess we could have done some Google searching of what had been written on the little signs and we could know already... but I have to confess here: Caleb was "helping" us in the garden many afternoons and pulled a lot of the signs up. To be fair, too, many of them were faded from the weather and hard to read anyway. There are a lot of signs still up, but they're probably going to find their way out eventually, since toddlers like to pull and explore, too...
So we keep coming out to look. Janis will call me over and point to something we hadn't seen before and we'll both get excited because it's something new showing up that wasn't there before. I'll call her over to point at something that's finally blooming and we both share a moment as we admire and appreciate one more little mystery revealing itself to us. I never realized that a blooming Iris could be so exhilarating, or that discovering a tulip nestled inside a rose bush would be so much like uncovering a deep and hidden secret treasure, and yet each flower is exactly that.
And then I think a little further, and I realize - this will probably be the only spring (at least, here in Vandalia) that has such complete and total mystery and majesty for me. It's a bittersweet moment, when I think about it. While I'm starting to think that if every state has a season that makes it stand out, that Spring is probably Missouri's front-runner in my book right now... I don't know if there will ever be another spring while we live here quite like this one has been for me. Each year past this one, I've realized that there won't be quite the same mystery, the same surprise and excitement at each new thing that blooms in our yard. I'll never have the same experience of backing down the driveway and seeing those Irises in full bloom for the first time, of forgetting everything else that I had on my to-do list for that precious minute while I stopped to admire the appearance of blossoms that I had been waiting excitedly to see since late March when the green shoots started to poke through the yellowed remains of last season. I'll know that this corner of the house has this kind of flower, that the roses are this particular shade of red and that the strange star-bursts in the flower bed will produce this type of flower. And while I'm sure that the Spring next year will still hold a kind of exhilaration as things pop up and begin to sprout new life again, I know that it won't be quite as exciting as it has been this year, having everything so literally new for us. Maybe I should just hire someone to secretly plant new and different flowers each year...
But as I sit and reflect on this, I’ve realized - isn’t this also the story of our faith? As we dwell in this season of Eastertide, we’re celebrating that same sprouting of our own faith through the resurrection of Jesus Christ. We toiled through Lent and Holy Week, spending a season clearing away all the leaves, the moldy mulch, and the weeds that have all gathered up through the long and cold winter - and now we come to that Easter Sunday and we see the first budding shoots, the crocuses announcing, "Winter is over - Spring is here!" The daffodils break through, donning their robes of white and gold and the hyacinths and lilies spread their sweet incense through the air, heralding this season of new life. And we are surrounded by an air of mystery, of expectation and of holding our breath, waiting to see what will come from the life that is springing, the bulbs and shoots that have appeared out of the thawing ground and mulchy beds. What will this new growth look like? What will these sprouts, buds and blossoms reveal? This is the spirit of Eastertide - this waiting and wondering, this pointing "Look at that!" and staring in wonder at each new thing that develops, knowing that as each day goes on, a garden continues to bloom and grow.
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