The first time I visited The Pocket at Pigeon Mountain it was unseasonably cold. All I remember are snow flurries swirling through the crisp air while I huddled close to my fellow wildflower enthusiasts in an attempt to avoid the brunt of the biting wind. I can’t even tell you if anything was blooming. 
Two weeks later I returned to find the slopes bedecked with such a vast array of wildflowers I could barely take it in. I asked my companion if someone had planted the wondrous variety. “No”, he explained. “The soils and conditions here are such that it developed naturally.” From that moment on, I’ve thought of The Pocket as “God’s Garden”, a little bit of heaven on earth, where the Creator’s ingenuity is on magnificent display.
I’ve written previously about what has become a highly-anticipated annual pilgrimage to this outdoor mecca, where a reverent awe settles upon me each time I visit.[1] Last week was no different. Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy as a gentle breeze wafted about. The gurgling brook and chirping birds provided background music as I retraced familiar pathways, stopping repeatedly to admire God’s handiwork. What a joy to behold the complexity and beauty, f
rom the tiniest of flowers to massive tree trunks toppled long ago, the latter now moss-covered works of art. All tucked away, far from the traffic zipping by heedlessly on the interstate, waiting to be discovered, pondered and appreciated.
It may sound presumptuous, but I’ve designated a small section of my wooded backyard a mini-Pocket. I’m gradually introducing some of the native plants found in that special place to my own suburban property – trilliums, wood poppies, Virginia bluebells, bloodroot, Solomon’s plume. Though it is but a shadow of the original, it nonetheless allows me to experience the same sense of wonder each spring as the plants reawaken, each uniquely exquisite. 
I stroll the woods almost daily in the early months of the year, gently moving leaves, searching for signs of life. I sense God’s peace and presence as I meander and I pray that my joyful exclamations of delight upon finding the treasures He’s brought through another winter reach his ears as songs of praise and thanksgiving.
As I was contemplating my attempts to recreate some semblance of The Pocket, the Lord’s Prayer[2] came to my mind, specifically the lines, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” At times we may think of this request in terms of Jesus’ second coming when all things will be made new and God’s kingdom will indeed be established forever. But Jesus ushered in the kingdom of God when He came the first time, saving us from our sins, buying our pardon with his precious blood, [3] gaining victory over death,[4] all that we might live and reign with Him in the new, forever kingdom. But in the meantime, He sent the Holy Spirit to comfort and counsel us, to conform us more and more to His image.[5] We are to be salt and light.[6] We are to bear witness, to be ready to give an answer for the hope that is within us.[7] We are called to take up our crosses, to follow Jesus and to love like He did.[8] We are to bring a little bit of heaven into the lives of those who come our way, be it for a moment or a lifetime.
Our finite minds can’t comprehend what it will be like to be in God’s presence. Even the most beautiful day here will seem dingy when compared to the radiant light emanating from his throne. But I’m so thankful He gives us glimpses of how amazing it will be. In blue skies and breezes. In flowers and friends. In love that will last forever. Though now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now we know in part; then we shall know fully, even as we are fully known.[9]
It is good to praise the Lord and make music to your name, O Most High, proclaiming your love in the morning and your faithfulness at night, to the music of the ten-stringed lyre and the melody of the harp. For you make me glad by your deeds, Lord; I sing for joy at what your hands have done. How great are your works, Lord, how profound your thoughts![10]
[1] Please see “He didn’t have to do it”, Archives, April 2017.
[2] Matthew 6:9-13
[3] John 1:29
[4] 1 Corinthians 15:54-57
[5] John 14:26
[6] Matthew 5:13-16
[7] 1 Peter 3:15
[8] Luke 9:23; John 13:35
[9] 1 Corinthians 13:12
[10] Psalm 92:1-5
Of all the fruits and gifts of the Spirit, love reigns supreme.
As I watched, the reason for her change in demeanor became obvious. One of the slightly-older girls had taken Lyla under her wing. She welcomed her into the circle and draped her arm around her shoulders as they bowed their heads.
He loved animals and even thought about going to veterinary school, though I, somewhat selfishly, am glad he chose horticulture instead. Not only did his decision eventually lead him to study in Delaware, where our paths crossed, but it contributed significantly to my own passion for plants years later.
After several months of persistent pursuit by this handsome young man, I was won over by his gift of a single red rose on my birthday in December and we began dating in earnest.
Ever-supportive, Ray was all-in when it came to our relocation to Georgia in 1992, a move precipitated by my employer. We were partners, working demanding jobs and raising our girls, teaming up to tackle the to-dos required to keep our household running. Until April 19, 1997 when it all came to an end.
Sure, I might have married someone else and even had two girls. But they wouldn’t be Mary with Ray’s beautiful brown eyes, or Jessie with his sense of humor. Furthermore, Ray’s unconditional love changed how I viewed myself, his steadying influence kept me grounded in truth and his death caused me to depend on God like never before. They still do.
After several days of near-average weather, a cold front blew in late yesterday, resulting in another brisker-than-usual day today. Nonetheless the sky was that brilliant blue that beckons me outside so I bundled up and went for a stroll through my neighborhood, praising God for the warm sun and glorious cerulean canopy. When I returned home, I just had to walk the property. Even though we’ve had an extra-cold couple of months, I wanted to see what signs of life I might be able
to find. I wasn’t disappointed. My witch hazel is in full bloom, buds are ready to open any day on a number of Lenten roses and foliage of early daffodils has poked up through the soil.
enough, they would have overheard several exclamations of, “Oh, yay! Thanks, Lord!!”, as I discovered the tiniest evidence of returning trilliums and trout lilies, their miniscule leaves barely protruding above the soil. I gently replaced their leafy blanket, buoyed by the anticipation of seeing them in all their glory in a few weeks.
Mom’s procedure the following day went flawlessly. By the time she was out of recovery, the horrific pain was gone. When I appeared the subsequent afternoon to take her home, she and Gail had exchanged their hospital gowns for real clothes and the newly-minted pals were discharged within the same hour.
As many of you’ve discerned, I love plants and do my best to care for the ones on my small suburban property. Thus, when the precipitation slowed to a halt mid-afternoon, I bundled up and ventured outside. Armed with an old broom, I began to gently poke, nudge and sweep snow from trees and bushes. Limbs of azaleas and camellias, dogwoods and maples reached skyward again once they were freed from their frosty burden. I labored for nearly an hour before retreating inside, satisfied that I’d done what I could to help my plant friends, at least the ones within my reach.
Darkness enshrouded our neighborhood. I peered frequently out my front windows, checking on trees that were once again drooping perilously. The serenity of the streetlight-illuminated scene belied the danger posed by the mounting accumulation. As I gazed in dismay, I saw a large branch of one of my favorite conifers give way, bending slowly toward the street as a horse might lower its head into a feeding trough.
I hastened to measure the accumulation before it was disturbed by frolicking children. Almost 10 inches adorned my yard, an amount unheard of since the Blizzard of ’93. With a sinking heart, I made note that many of my trees and shrubs were still pitifully bent, the branch of the juniper indeed irreparably broken, along with three others on the same specimen.
brilliant blue sky and sunshine that skipped across the now-sparkling blanket of white. As I watched, the benevolent rays and a gentle breeze began to free the trees from their frozen constraints, accomplishing much more than I could with my broom. Snow fell in flurries and chunks. Limbs commenced to thaw and unfurl.
Two major events – a 10-inch snowfall and my mom’s unexpected hospitalization, including back surgery – took precedence, disrupting daily activities as well as special plans and traditions. One day melded into another as the countdown to Christmas continued unabated. Although the unforeseen circumstances derailed one or two highly-anticipated events, there were still special moments to be savored. Furthermore, the detours gifted me with time to reflect, to re-prioritize, to remember who’s in control.
Back 2 the Garden 