'.....my father is the gardener'. And why wouldn't he be? Planting, transplanting, taking cuttings, trimming, pruning, weeding, planning, mulching, watering, mowing, building, looking over- and the rest. And taking joy in it all, above all.
I walk round the garden at least once a day just now. Just taking delight in it. Noticing what's new, what needs a little help, dead-heading the roses, removing a weed, harvesting a few strawberries and watering, of course. There's always something to do, something to rejoice in- the deep purple of the clematis which has just come into bloom, the way the vibrant orange rose fades to apricot, then to pink. The particular pleasure of watching the monardas flower- a plant a haven't grown before; the thankfulness that I didn't jettison the verbena when all seemed lost- it's come good, and is starting its small blooms.
It gives rise to a thought I have never seriously entertained before- the pleasures of God. Yes, I know the verse 'my son, in whom I am well pleased' and have applied it to myself, to good effect, and to others in ministering to them; but it's a thought worth taking up, savouring, more often;- that this plant/person, this ensemble of plants/church/community, could be a serious source of pleasure to God.
I can feel another stroll round the garden coming on; just for the pleasure of it.
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