On Gardens and Second Chances

Once upon a time a garden grew in my heart. It had to grow there because we didn’t yet own a place of our own to make it a reality.

That’s not to say that we didn’t have a go at gardening. It just had to take the form of pots and little patches that landlords were willing to allow a daisy bush or two to grow.

The day finally came that we spent a ridiculous amount of money (who knew seedlings could be so expensive?) and went to town planting out daisies, cornflowers, society garlic, lavender, chrysanthemums, lobelia, alyssum, salvia, agapanthus and other pretty flowers we’ve long since forgotten the names of. It was a very special thing to finally plant out the potted roses that had moved around with us to each town also.

The garden grew and flourished. A place of quiet beauty. Admired by many as they walked past. Commented on occasionally too.

And then it rained.

And rained.

And rained some more.

In all the wetness, the weeds grew big and strong. So did the grass. Try as we might to conquer the jungle, it conquered us. We gave up in a way. Lost our ‘oomph’. Let the wildness win.

There it sat. For a year. (Okay, it was a bit longer than that).

When we could stand the depressing-ness (someone please tell me the correct word here?) no longer, we vowed to make it delightful again.

Much hard work, and several physiotherapy sessions later, the weeds and grasses were gone. All that remained were a few brave survivors. The rest, a blank canvas.

Again we went crazy at the nursery buying all our favourites. The neighbour watched on (somewhat amused I think – he’d hadn’t seen the garden before) at the planting frenzy that followed.

A couple of months on, those little seedlings have grown some. The flowers smile and nod in the breeze. It is a pleasure to just ‘be’ out there…

Thank God for second chances.

Thank God that messes and mistakes are not permanent.

Thank God that He is the tender gardener of our souls.

Thank God that weeds do come out.

Thank God that He is willing to start over in a surrendered heart.

Thank God that He is not finished with us yet.

Amen?

Amen!





Linking up with: Fellowship Fridays 

A Really Sparkly One

Dear Sweet Child of Mine,

Only the good Lord knows how much I have to choose to love you some days. Only He knows the full extent of the guilt I have felt for my (lack of) feelings towards you. Only He knows what really goes on in that head of yours.

And He knows the desires of this heart to appreciate you better, to see the real you, to look beyond Asperger’s and see the beautiful, loving person that you are.

Some days, many days, it is hard. I have wrestled mightily with my heart over you, dear child. Often I have prayed, begged even, for just a glimpse beyond the surface. A precious moment where we can connect, even if it only lasts five minutes. When it comes, it’s a truly sparkly treasure.  

Tonight though, He orchestrated something just beautiful. So very exquisite. My eyes are still leaking.

Pastor was asking for volunteers to pray for folk in the church who struggle with health. I was a little unsure when you accepted his request to pray for me. I never quite know what to expect from your lips. I needn’t have worried.

First, you felt the need to explain to the congregation that your Mama struggles with more than Chronic Fatigue – she has two boys who have their moments too!!! Oh dear child, you do indeed know how to make me laugh! I needed that reminder. So much.

Before we knew it, eyes (not just mine) were welling up as you declared, in your childish faith, that your Mama was a blessing and you thanked God and led the congregation in a sweet, sweet prayer.

My son, you are so, so much more than Asperger’s, and quirks, and a child trying figure out a confusing world. Please forgive me for failing often to see beyond the daily mud we get mired in.

Thank you for letting Him work through you.

So much love,

Mama xx 

Grateful

Join me in the Five Minute Friday Challenge hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker. Participants write for 5 minutes with no editing, no over thinking, and no backtracking. This week’s word is: Grateful.

(Go)

Ever since I can remember my mission in life was to grow up to be a princess. Just like so many other little girls. But we didn’t have the money to spend on fancy toys. And it never occurred to her to promote these things in a big or overly meaningful way.

Obviously she’d been reflecting on the way things were for us as kids, growing up. I know this because a year or two ago she apologised. I wasn’t looking for or expecting it. It came as quite a surprise.

Every now and then that reel runs through in my mind. In the middle of creative pursuit, just the other day, something hit the play button again.

Because see, the sticking point for me is this - as a child I didn’t miss what I didn’t have. I’m pretty sure I was oblivious to the fact I never owned a tiara. I was however fully aware that I’d been thought of when she brought me home the book about a real princess. For me. Just because that was my life’s dream.

Back to the creativity.

She may have never bought me fancy dress ups and the like – but she did hand me a needle and thread. There was a bag of fabric scraps I was allowed to raid just whenever. There was always paper, scissors, crayons, and glue. The most used book on the shelf was the ‘make and do.’ I was happy with that. Satisfied to the full. I didn’t know I was missing out – because I wasn’t.

How does all that impact me now? I still love to create. I love to be resourceful. It’s such a big part of who God made me. I’m pretty sure He knew that when He provided for our needs. I am grateful for those days.

And the princess thing? Well, once upon a time a girl met a boy. He called her his Precious Princess (and still does)… But that’s a whole other story!

(Stop)

Now, your turn…

A Beautiful Mess

Join me in the Five Minute Friday Challenge hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker. Participants write for 5 minutes with no editing, no over thinking, and no backtracking. This week’s word is: Mess.

 

(Go)

Have you seen my house lately? No? Let me sum it up for you in just one word.

Mess.

We’re good at that round here. Experts even.

The back end of the house has tools and wood and this and that just everywhere. Renovating is either in full swing or waiting patiently to be.

The kitchen shows evidence of the last meal we ate. Pots and pans with last scrapes. A pile of dirty plates to prove we are well nourished.

The lounge room - overtaken by an odd mixture of toys and too many games pulled out of the cupboard, combined with evidence of Mama’s last three sewing projects.

But you know what? It’s okay. Really.

Because this mess means life. This mess means blessings. This mess will clean up. Eventually.

Jesus did not come to this world because we have it all together and just needed the cherry to go on top. He came because we’re all pretty good at this mess thing. He knows about our mess. The ones in our homes and the ones in our hearts. And if we’ll let him, he wants to show us how to make it beautiful.

(Stop)

Now, your turn…

A Very Belated Response

You may have noticed very few posts lately. In fact there have been none. It’s not that I didn’t try to write at first. There were a few attempts at putting thoughts down. But they never seemed to take the turn I’d hoped they would. Instead they looked a lot (an awful lot) like somebody, a little lost, just trying to make sense of her world and her muddled head. They never really reached a point that felt worth sharing. Or became too raw and too personal to splash about. (Maybe one day I’ll dip into them – who knows?)

Then there was a whole lot of nothing. No inspiration would come at all.

And since this writing thing is done because I believe He would have me do it, I asked Him what should be said. He was very quiet on the matter. I sensed the need to hush, be still - not put so much pressure on myself. To trust that when the time was right, the words would come.

There was one small word that came and sat. It seemed to disappear there for awhile. Though if I think about it, it never really did. I’ve opened my eyes and noticed it quietly peeping round the corner at me lately. Winking, willing curiosity to come and see.

It’s always so hard for me to start again, to find my rhythm. When I do not know what to say or how to feel, I write a letter. The music always finds me there. 

-KatieMulder

…and so…

Dear Sweet You,

You asked us, the other month, if we had a word for this coming year.

You had one – and others in the conversation had one too. I was happy for you all, really. But I didn't. At least, not yet.

At the end of last year a different somebody asked me what I wanted from the New Year.

My honest answer? To survive.

Said out loud it sounded so hollow and sad. But what I really meant was, I’d like to get my act together. To actually put in place a little daily plan. To feel as if something has been accomplished. To cope. To rise above. To find joy again …

The more I thought about it, the more I envisioned myself doing these things. The more I wanted to do these things. The more I allowed myself to believe in the possibilities.

I dared to dream once more - for more than survival. I wanted to live.

Life got in the way. I dropped the vision somewhere in a rut. It all seemed too hard, too much, too unattainable.

But I haven’t given up. I can’t. I won’t. Sometimes, I am learning, I just need to rest. In the circumstance – and in Him.

Slowly but surely progress is happening. The difficult is becoming easier. Or at least making more sense. I am learning new things, I am growing, I am in fact more alive than I had realised…

and, I have hope.

Thank you so much for asking!

Lizzy xx