Pondering Hope in Everyday Moments
All summer long I have faithfully watered my purple cloud shrubs, and all summer long they have produced only a few blossoms. Then we finally had a soaking rain a few weeks ago. I began to watch for the profusion of blossoms that always appears after a generous downpour.
This week my shrubs are wildly blooming. Gentle reader, they know the difference. They know when the water comes from God.
The violets are in full bloom now. They always remind me of St. Therese of Lisieux. In The Story of a Soul, she uses the analogy of violets to represent all the little souls who give God joy as they strive to love Him in their everyday lives. In God’s garden, these little souls do not demonstrate the splendor of the rose or the whiteness of the lily, but they give God joy as his glance falls upon their simple beauty.
The color of violets is the color of Lent. This is a solemn season. We try to ponder the unimaginable gift that Jesus has given us in his passion. We can’t fully appreciate it or understand it. After all, we are only little souls, little violets in the face of such a Mystery.
Although many of the trees in our neighborhood are almost bare, our ash trees have only begun to shed their golden leaves. Soon the ground will be covered with a golden carpet. I am reminded of two of my favorite ‘golden’ quotes:
“All that is gold does not glitter…” (J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings)
“…I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands I saw one like the Son of Man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash across his chest….” (Rev. 1:13, NRSV, Catholic ed.)
Advent is a time of expectation, a time of waiting for all that is good and beautiful. Here’s to the once, present, and future King!
Every year, one of my potted arrangements outshines all the others. This year, my favorite pot is planted with Snapdragons, Marigolds, and Lobelias.
Alas, the magenta Calla Lilies (center back) and the pink Calibrachoa (back left) have finished blooming.
Gentle Reader, only God is perfect.
Yesterday, I worked in the garden until mid-afternoon. The heat of the sun made rivulets of salty sweat run down my face. I was too busy, too driven, too absorbed in my tasks to enjoy the day. Finally, satisfied with my labors, I retreated into the shade of the house to rest.
In the evening, I was drawn to walk in the garden. Suddenly, I was in Eden. I understood why God liked to walk in the garden in the evening. There was something about the soft evening light that made the colors of the blossoms and leaves so intensely vivid. The air was cool. Day was almost done.
There was beauty.
Finally — a morning without wind. I bring my coffee and spiritual reading into the garden, but my book remains unopened. In the trees, the birds can’t stop singing. A bee hovers over a barely visible holly blossom. The air caresses my skin as only it can do in spring. There is new life everywhere.
How can I read about God when He is at work all around me?
I like looking at things that are tall. When I walk, I look at the treetops (which is sometimes hazardous to my feet), and I look at the mountains. Though I love them both, the mountains provide the best food for thought. There is mystery there. In spite of all the expert climbers who have ever climbed, I am convinced there are places that no human foot has touched. I imagine treasures there, known only to the birds — a rare blossom rising from a crag in the rocks, a hidden cave that glistens with veins of gold, a hidden spring, a strange creature never previously seen.
Beyond their physical mystery, mountains remind me that there is so much more to life than I am able to discover or grasp. There is so much more in this world that I will never know. This is a source of abiding joy for me. Life is inexhaustible. There is always more. There is always hope. There is always God.
As Thanksgiving Day approaches, I’m thinking of all the people who will be alone during the upcoming holidays. After I was orphaned as a teenager, I was alone for many years, even when I was surrounded by people. I know how it feels to be alone. Holidays were the worst.
Whoever you are, and wherever you are, I will be praying for you. If hope eludes you, please know that I will be hoping on your behalf.
If you believe in God, I encourage you to pray for yourself and others. If you don’t believe in God, I encourage you to pray as if you did.
St. Teresa of Avila’s Bookmark:
Let nothing disturb you; Let nothing frighten you. All things pass; God never changes. Patience obtains all things. The one who has God Lacks nothing: God alone suffices.
The Rio Grande passes quietly through the valley where we live in Southern New Mexico. In spite of the current, the surface of the river remains calm because the water flows over a smooth, sandy river bed. To cool off on hot summer weekends, families with children wade or sit in the shallow water near the banks. They stay close to the edges of the river. There can be quicksand near the center.
I’ve been thinking about serenity and peace lately. If I wish to remain outwardly serene, I need to be at peace beneath the surface.
For the most part, I am at peace with myself. Yet, from time to time I find a submerged rock or tree branch that disturbs the surface. Then, there is turbulence for a while, until I figure out what to do with it.
God helps. The Holy Spirit is my solid ground.
I read somewhere that people who garden do so because they love being in the garden. The labor is an excuse to spend time in the midst of beauty.
We never completely tame the garden, although we try. Weeds and slugs battle against our efforts. Sun scorches, wind tangles, drought dries, and deluge drowns. Still, we always come back for more.
I like what I become in the garden. I rediscover awe and wonder at the sight of mysterious growth and new blossoms. I feel close to God in the garden.
I think most gardeners are unconsciously searching for a glimpse of Eden. The curious thing is that, for a moment we actually find it.
Contemplation Garden 