When I'm gardening, I find a great comfort, and vindication for my stumbling efforts out there, in Jesus' words 'My father is the gardener'. To me, it's a picture of God quietly working in the background, certainly, but out there planning, tending, weeding, nurturing, planting, and the thousand-and-one other activities which a gardener comes to realise are necessary for the maintenance and thriving of a lovely space.
My own activities this week have been on a small scale. An area of about 1 1/2 square metres of constantly wet ground between the raised bed and the decking has had some attention which I hope will transform it from just somewhere between two more interesting areas, into something of an adornment in its own right. Better drainage, some pots to add colour, and it will in time add interest and life to somewhere which has- till now- exercised my mind as to how it could be improved, and exercised my heart in a feeling of despair as I looked at it.
And an unexpected gift of some slabs has given me thought for what may be done with them. Present thinking includes making a new bed, with the slabs as edging. Dividing some plants, the inclusion of a small water feature, rearranging a path, planting bulbs- a gift from a friend; all these are going round in my head at the moment.
The constant activity of God to the benefit and beauty of creation, the benefit and beauty of my soul and personality; in a miniscule way I see this as I potter about outside. 'My father is the gardener', and I'm privileged to recognise that, and to learn from this -to me- ever expanding metaphor.
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