Pastor Annette's Blog
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"OF ALL THE THINGS GOD HAS SHOWN ME, I CAN SPEAK BUT A LITTLE WORD . . . NOT MORE THAN A HONEYBEE CAN CARRY AWAY ON ITS FOOT FROM AN OVERFLOWING JAR."
~ MECHTHILD OF MAGDEBURG, 13TH CENTURY MYSTIC |
 May 30, 2023
Beloved ~ Something gorgeous blooms somewhere every month of the year, but around here May starts with daffodils and ends with peonies, pronounced pinies by my kinfolks, making it my favorite. My whole flowerbed is a nursery, so I’m enjoying other people’s gardens this year. I’ve discovered an annual flower called Tithonia, or Mexican Sunflower. The farmer who sold it to me said it’s her hands down favorite. So I bought two starts for my yard, hoping for bees and hummingbirds she claims will flock to it. And zinnias, oodles of them. And lupine, one of which Birdy instantly chewed to bits. I replanted a stem with some roots still attached; my hopes are not high. Such a bad dog. I’m guarding one teensy, tiny tomato from the deer and raccoons who nightly cross my yard. Apparently this not so stinky repellent is working so far. Until the rains come I’m choosing to water my baby plants every day instead of turning on my air conditioning. Daytime is fine so long as I have a fan nearby, and night time is lovely cool. Three practices come to mind as I consider gardening life, patience being the first. Things grow slowly, if at all. Some seeds die in the ground, or seem too. Michael Pollen writes of acorns that will lie dormant for a hundred years before splitting into a tiny plant. Other things explode within weeks of poking them into the dirt. The first year I grew squash was the last year I grew it for a while. I picked so much squash I couldn’t give it all away. A very low need to control one’s surroundings is also helpful for a gardener. Nature has her ways and her ways will not be forced, not by our good intentions nor by our hard work. As with the oak tree, Nature does not operate by seasons or even centuries, but rather by 100,000 year cycles called glacials and interglacials. She gives us conditions within which to play in the dirt we are given, forcing us to admit that we are but small contributors to the forces that give back flowers and tomatoes. Finally, gardeners are highly satisfied by lowly tasks, lowly and repetitive, tedious and itchy. I pick out the grub worms and carry them to the compost pile. I pull weeds that grow back by the time I’ve put my tools away. And I have an ugly scrape on the top of one foot and no less than five hateful bug bites, all of which flare just as I’m about to fall asleep. For all that, why do I love it so? I think because it reminds me of my smallness in the universe and in the scheme of things, how little is required of me for Creation to operate according to Its own design. That gives me great relief when the rest of my life can feel overwhelming. Do less, Creation seems to whisper, I’ve got this. You rest and wait. I’ll let you know if I need any help. I pray the day finds you resting, body, heart and soul, and enjoying some gift that only God can give.
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 May 23, 2023
Beloved: Come July, when I’m sweating through my clothes, I hope I remember Mother Nature’s tenderness toward us now. The evening breeze and stippled light make watering my flowerbeds and sweeping off the driveway practically perfect in every way. With hardly a biting bug to be found, my neighbor Susan and I enjoy long consultations about the sorry state of grass between our respective houses, and why my lily-of-the-valley didn’t bloom — as lily-of-the-valley blooms positively everywhere. Two of the kindest men I know helped with the heavy work of laying down loads and loads of compost, topsoil and mulch so the beds around my house are in. For all the plants I’ve planted, the beds still look bare to me. Three years, as I learned early in my gardening life, three years to get a perennial bed established. Year One the roots go down. Year Two the green comes up. Year Three the blooms come out. I’ve known it so long I can’t remember who first told me, only that they for sure spoke of gardening. Not the spiritual life. Not this life in Our Maker, Creator, Loving One — when so much time can pass wherein nothing seems to happen, nothing good or strong or hopeful. Nothing beautiful, especially. Maybe it’s Year One — or it could be — in our thinking, in our self-understanding, our meaning-making of these days. Isn’t that what makes us human — the need to make meaning of what happens to us? The golden retriever at my feet has never spent a single second worried about the future. She is happy or she is asleep, except for when she’s hungry or sick. But she’s never worried, never wondering, “Where is God?” She lives in God simply by being her creaturely self. So, Year One — when new roots are going down, twining themselves into this ground which is part and parcel of its Maker. Year One — when all the necessary patience, grace, prayer, self-control and Sabbath are as critical as light and water. Year One — when appearances have nothing to do with what is happening in the depths we cannot see, or likely even access for now. For now all we have is trust. As every green thumb already knows, trust is the greater part of gardening anyway, us doing our part, Mother Nature doing hers. May we be found faithful in all the soil we tend, our own hearts most of all. Updates from my birdfeeders:
 May 9, 2023
Beloved: The person at Wild Birds sold me a suet brick laced with capsaicin which, according to her, squirrels hate and birds can’t taste. She was absolutely right. Not a single squirrel has touched it and, whether they can’t or won’t, the birds haven’t had a single taste either. Meanwhile the other feeders are hopping with business: bluebirds, red house finch, yellow finch, a most respectful blue jay, doves, cardinals, the smallest woodpecker I’ve ever seen, titmice, so many wrens, and even a cowbird, which seemed odd so far from any woodsy area. My neighbor saw a hummingbird a few days ago, but I’m still waiting for visitors at my feeders. It may be a while since my yard has no flowers. Flowers are another project. I’m watching where the light falls to mark where sun and shade lands upon these empty beds. I’ve buried them in five yards of a compost/manure/ topsoil mix which now must be kneaded in. I read one time that nearly all of gardening is tinkering with the dirt; the plants are just the consequence of getting the dirt right. Spiritual lessons abound, not the least of which is how much my knees and back hate effort and the pain involved. I’ve had them mostly reading, sewing and watching TV, and walking the dog for months. Restful, yes. Fit for soil work, not so much. Now I have them bending, lifting, hauling, straining, getting down on the ground and then up again. My wrists aren’t happy either, hacking at this Indiana clay, digging rocks and roots long buried. So I keep at it, because I want what good soil gives – which is flowers and hummingbirds and butterflies. And also, beauty, and joy, and satisfaction, and peace. And joy. I think I already said joy. Like last night when the light was almost gone and I wanted to be done, I turned over a clump of dirt and a little frog jumped out. A spring peeper, I think. It watched me for a minute then hopped off to find another bed.* Soul work is the same, I know, the willingness to dig up the hardened places, the fixed assumptions and the resistance, old hurts and buried pain. I don’t like it, not for a minute do I like it. But how else to have the joy and the new life also buried there? Some days I am too afraid, too sore or too tired. But not every day, and especially not in these nearly perfect days of May. Flowers are exploding with color in other people’s yards. I can enjoy them from a distance and hope that some season soon the soil and the soul in my care will bloom and flourish. I pray the same for you. ~ peace & prayers, pastor annette * I could write these little notes quicker if I didn’t get completely sidetracked by interesting websites like this one – all about toads and frogs common to Indiana. You can even listen to their songs. Check it out. https://www.hoosierherpsoc.org/IDfrog.html#f06 |
I write a Tuesday morning devotional to members and friends of UBC. It is also posted here.
Enjoy! Pastor Annette Copyright
Everything on this site is licensed under a Creative Commons license, which gives you permission to copy freely, provided that you attribute the work to me, that you use the work for non-commercial purposes, and that you do not produce derivative works. Archives
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