The morning is soft and gray... I walk through the garden without my glasses, the colors of the flowers muted and indistinct, like a Monet painting. As I breathe deeply, I feel immersed in a cloud; the early dew seeping into my parched soul. I see that the garden has come alive: the Hydrangeas and Rose of Sharon have opened; Shasta daisies, Echinacea and Day lilies are in the middle of their month-long display, and I am filled with gratitude for the beauty of flowers.
I remember reading once that flowers, more than anything else in creation, speak to us of the nature of God. They exist simply to be beautiful and to create nectar for the bees, who in turn pollinate everything in nature.They fascinate our senses with their intricate and varied designs, beautiful fragrance and spectacular array of colors. Who else but a loving God would create something so lovely to paint the earth and remind his children to appreciate beauty in all its forms? The evidence for the Creator is truly in the creation.
When I was going through a particularly difficult period in my life, I planted many of the flowers that so bless me now. I had the feeling that if I could create something beautiful for each painful experience, I would transform my world in some way. It worked, in many ways, at least to help me through that time, and now, the garden has become a peaceful sanctuary, a place to rest and heal. There is a lot of maintenance of course, but even the act of working in the garden is therapeutic. The plants absorb pain, sadness and grief and offer their gifts of peace and loveliness in return.
When my daughters were young, we read The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett, a well-known classic about the healing power of a garden. The girls loved the story and every so often we would watch the movie-it always made us cry. I will finish today's reflection with a lovely quote from the book that speaks to my heart:
“Sometimes since I've been in the garden I've looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something was pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breathe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden - in all the places.”
