The Garden

22 May


Sometimes it’s better not to know.
“…let me know how fleeting my life is.”
That’s the Psalmist’s request in Psalm 39.
Really?  You need a message from God?  Do you have a mirror
at home?  Look around at that circle of friends.  That’s a lot of
gray hair…or absence of.  I had a long look at my hand the
other day.  Looks a bit like the surface of the moon.  No, I
don’t need a revelation, just some reassurance.  And I find
it in the rosebud waiting to bloom.

I used to think of myself as invincible.  Then came vulnerable.
Sometime, when I wasn’t paying attention, the second half of the
game began, and I was mature.  That’s a kind word, isn’t it?
Mature is fine, but eventually it means that you know your
urologist by his first name.  Blooming is wonderful.  To bloom
for even a brief period of time is a mystery made possible by a
Mystery.  It’s only right and natural, though, that the petals
start to curl around the edges, then fall to the ground to
nourish the roots.  How else could the rosebud bloom?
My reassurance about the garden is in all those rosebuds
waiting their turns.

The explosion of their brilliance, far surpassing what we brought
to the garden, gives me practical hope.  You know them.  They
have good minds, good hearts and good souls.  They are just
over our shoulders, waiting.  And they are going to be beautiful.

Let’s just double-down and leave them something
to work with.


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