How does your garden grow?

Today is the eve of my father’s 82nd Birthday.

I lovingly refer to him as “Poppy”.

These annual celebrations have a way of bringing sentimentality ~  a recalling of the stories that mark our days, and the memories that lie within.

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I grew up in suburbia. In a small ranch-style house with a modest front and back yard.

All seven of us.

As children, we spent much of our time beyond the boundaries of those four walls.  We were fresh-air kids! There was no better way to experience the joy of each changing season in the Midwest.

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In late autumn, we ran from one end of the yard to the other with only one destination in mind ~ an enormous pile of  leaves! They had fallen from the massive sweet gum tree in the back. It took us and entire afternoon to rake but it was so worth it.

Winter brought incredible amounts of snow.  Snow that packed tightly into buckets, layer after layer, the building of an igloo. A perfect hideout to store snowballs and drink our cocoa!

One summer’s highlight ~ a ‘wishing well’ that my sister made for us in the empty field next door. Afternoons spent twisting delicate stems of clover blossoms to make sweetly fragrant necklaces. Crispy marshmallows that we roasted over the smoldering embers of the charcoal grill.  Just enough heat leftover from the hamburgers that Dad had grilled for dinner.

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And between all the grilling, I remember my Dad always growing something. 

I remember trees that were old with gnarled branches still offering generous blossoms despite their maturity.  They later yielded lovely and abundant fruit.

Sticky, sweet sap oozed from the knot in the trunk of the peach tree.   Delicate white blossoms later became apples, juicy and delicious. And smooth purple-skinned plums, perfectly wrapped the beautiful apricot-colored flesh inside.

In the summer of my 13th year, my father’s work transferred us about 250 miles northeast of those fruit trees. We left my childhood and that treasured space behind.

Time passed.  I was busy in high-school with my extracurricular activities and a widening circle of friends.

College came and life beckoned me to immerse myself in the experiences of campus living. Exploring new ideas, new people and developing my sense of self.

Then marriage.  A child.  Divorce.

Visits back home were a comfort and a contrast.

For as the five of us had grown and gone, my parents had come to know a beautiful simplicity once more.

During her early retirement years, my Mom found great joy in flower arranging at a local grocery store. She has always held a special gift for making things look and feel beautiful.

Meanwhile, Dad was home ~ growing things again.

He has forever been a prized tomato grower.

The August sun poised high in the afternoon sky, brought sweltering temperatures AND the biggest, most amazing tomatoes from my Dad’s garden. The vines grew almost wild!

Day after day, Dad picked to fill basket after basket to be given away to neighbors.

One year, he loaded the trunk of the car full of the red, ripe beauties and took them to the church parking-lot to share with his friends and passersby.

My Dad has always had a generous heart and welcoming smile. 

These qualities make it easy to be around him. I guess his plants think so, too.

Especially the roses.   (Genus: Rosa /Family: Rosoideae)

To see his garden in bloom, you would think he had obtained a degree in botany.

Instead, his simple love for growing things equaled the simplicity with which he cultivated those plants. I’d ask him how he did it. “Nothing special”, he claimed.

But the ‘special’ part must just be him.

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I can recall visiting my parents on a warm day in July.

I walked with my Dad into the backyard ~ he wanted to show me his garden.

The closer we came, the heavier the air was with perfume. My Dad’s roses were in bloom once again. Climbers, creepers, shrubs. He could grow them all with expertise, yet made it seem so effortless.

Dad and I have often walked through the yard to take in all of the green and wild wonder. We also go for long walks around their neighborhood. A quiet place, with winding turns and canopies of trees.

I took a walk with him soon after his 80th birthday.

I remember that walk as a beautiful walk of redemption.

Like many relationships, my father and I have had our fair share of hardships, pain, and loss.

Fortunately, he’s not a man to hold a grudge. Instead, he holds great wisdom. That which he has acquired through his many years on this earth. A wisdom that I greatly admire.

That day I was able to share my heart with my father, my Dad, my Poppy.

Our conversation meandered all over the place, as it tends to do when we walk together. That’s what makes it so enjoyable. Nothing rehearsed. Nothing off the table.

I treasure the fact that I can truly be myself with him.

In between our strides, gratitude kept pace. It was my opportunity to express to my Dad all that he means to me.

I had finally come to a place in my life where I am happy with who I am. And looking inside, many of those things I find best in me  ~ well, they are parts of him.

My heart overflowed, that day, as I was able to speak words of honor and love.  Never, could I have imagined that even time could mend the years of distance that had come between us.

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Fortunately, God is in the business of growing hearts, and bringing lost hearts back together again. 

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Galatians 5:22-23

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.

My earthly father has taught me a great deal in this life. Not only by what he says, but moreover, by who he is and how he walks this journey ~ with great intention, perseverance, humility, and grace.

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Our Heavenly Father is the Master Gardener. 

He tends to our souls. 

He cultivates His Spirit in us.

Forever sowing new seeds, His desire is to grow us in His likeness.

When we come to know Him, we discover the splendor that can be found in His garden.

A garden of mercy. 

There, we find the fragrance of forgiveness.

We walk through vast and abundant fields of joy.

Petals of peace caress our weary souls.

And beauty abounds within a ceaseless ocean of His grace.

How grateful I am that my father and I can walk together in this garden today…both growing in our faith and in our love for Christ.

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Happy Birthday, Poppy! 

I love you.