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Another year

/ Patsy Kuipers / 7 Comments

My interest in writing dates back to elementary school when I started keeping diaries and chronicling family vacations. I’ve filled numerous journals with my take on life events ever since. After nearly 50 years of writing, I began to contemplate blogging and so, on July 1, 2014, I launched Back 2 the Garden.

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Two of my journals. Nothing fancy, but together they chronicle my musings across 24 years of life.

 

As I stated in my first article, “Count it all joy”, gardening became my passion after my horticulturally-trained husband’s death at the all-too-young age of 39. This passion has produced much fruit as I’ve tended our garden across the past 19 years:

“Not only has God faithfully provided for me and my family since Ray’s death, He has ministered to me over and over again through the beauty of his creation. While playing in the dirt, I’ve been reminded of his promises, seen tangible examples of Scriptural principles and found solace for my soul. This blog is born of a desire to share some of what I’ve learned spiritually and horticulturally.”

My hope when I embarked on this endeavor was to impart spiritual insights as well as practical horticultural information, with the aim of publishing an article once a week. But the demands of life have a way of tempering our goals. I’ve averaged posting an essay about every two weeks, the pages I launched to expand the content of Back 2 the Garden have languished, and almost all of what I’ve written has focused on the spiritual. Nevertheless, my longing to share the joy and hope I find in faith, family, friends and flowers is as strong as when I debuted my first post. My desire to carry on in spite of various and assorted distractions is fueled in no small part by those of you who take time to read what I publish and encourage me to keep writing. Thank you!

Since celebrating the first anniversary of my blogging efforts last July, I’ve lost a dear brother-in-law and gained a precious granddaughter; had to let go of a friendship or two, yet reconnected with a special friend from my past; had surgery; endured a time of not playing in the dirt while I recovered; and, just recently, commenced a major landscaping project which is sure to provide fodder for future reflections on this page. Joy, sorrow, challenges, new dreams – the stuff life is made of. And underneath it all, the everlasting arms of the One who never changes, who knows the end from the beginning and loves us more than we can imagine.

Whether you’re visiting this page for the first time or have been a faithful reader from the beginning, I hope you’ll continue to find many reasons to come back to the garden with me.

A hand to hold

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Anyone who’s tried to transfer a slumbering babe-in-arms to its crib knows what a daunting task it can be. Having attempted this move innumerable times, first years ago with my daughters and more recently with three grandchildren, I’ve come to believe babies are born with a sensor which alerts them to the increasing proximity of the miniature mattress. The little person sleeping so soundly and peacefully in your arms can become a crying bundle of flailing arms and legs in a split second.

Such is the case with baby Emma. Emma in her favorite sleeping position - a face down snuggle!She starts to fidget as soon as she feels my arms (and herself) move away from my body and works up to a full-on wail by the time I get her into her bed. I quickly cover her with a soft blanket and begin to rub her back and pat her bottom to ease the transition. Inevitably one tiny hand reaches for her mouth and extracts her pacifier. As of now this is a one-way maneuver – she hasn’t quite figured out how to put it back. The result: more fussing. In an attempt to keep her from dislodging her paci, I offer her one of my fingers to hold as she dozes back off.

Barely four months old, Emma has a vise-like grip which leads to another challenge as I try to reclaim my finger and exit her room. Yet a baby’s inborn ability to curl its tiny fingers around a bigger one is a most endearing quality. IMG_1356Siblings Joshua and Lyla will offer Emma one of theirs from time to time and then exalt, “Look! She’s holding my finger. She likes me!”

As our children become mobile, hand holding continues. We extend a hand to steady them as they take their first steps. We ask them to hold our hand as we cross the street or a busy parking lot. Gradually, the practical need to hold hands decreases . . .

But we never outgrow the need to hold hands from an emotional perspective. I’ve said countless times, one of the things I’ve missed most since Ray died was having his hand to hold. From momentous events like puffing my way through labor pains to more mundane activities such as discussing the day’s activities after dinner and strolling around our small property – we held hands. We were partners. He had my back. And then one day his hand was still and it could no longer reach for mine. Instead, it held a single red rose as we laid him to rest.

In the midst of my loneliness and sorrow, there was One who told me not to fear or be dismayed. He promised to strengthen me and help me. He assured me He would hold my hand and never let go. He’s been true to his Word. He always is. And now, in His goodness and mercy, He’s seen fit to provide another hand to reach for mine – a strong yet gentle hand that dwarfs mine in its grasp. Though I don’t know where our strolls will take us, I know the One who holds us in His mighty, everlasting embrace. We can trust Him to have a good and perfect plan . . . always.

Sticks and stones

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

IMG_1221It can be challenging when an activity you’re passionate about is outside. Such is the case with gardening. My plants are exposed to the elements, frequently nibbled on or dug up by passing critters and sometimes plucked or stepped on by curious children, including my own grandchildren. Yet as I tend the small plot of ground the Lord has entrusted to me, I strive to make it beautiful, not only as an offering to Him, but as something lovely for others to gaze upon. Admittedly, my neighbors may question the latter statement since the woodland garden is still very much a work in progress and one of my front beds is being overtaken by the incessant march of Bermuda grass and wild violets. Nonetheless, I have a vision of what it might become . . . someday.

Several days ago a number of woodland plants took an unexpected hit. I wasn’t home at the time so I can’t be certain what transpired. IMG_1245As best I can tell, the tree service working in my neighbor’s yard dropped a very large branch and proceeded to drag it some 20’ back to my neighbor’s property to be disposed of. I’m sure it was an accident and the crew didn’t realize the damage they were doing when they retrieved the branch. But I was saddened to see the carnage: a clump of flattened jack-in-the-pulpit, broken ferns, shredded Black Hills cohosh, trampled mayapples, and a recently-planted trillium which is now nowhere to be found.

My neighbor gave me the name and phone number of his contact person at the tree company. I tallied up my losses and gave him a call, hoping to have a reasonable conversation and possibly receive compensation so I could replace the damaged and missing plants. When he answered, I identified myself and explained the reason for my call. I was totally unprepared for his response. The anger from the other side was palpable as the man demanded to know why I hadn’t called sooner or said something when it happened. When I told him I wasn’t home at the time he essentially called me a liar, stating adamantly he knew I was home because he saw me. That part was true – they had to rearrange some of their trucks so I could get out of my driveway and go to my daughter’s house for the day.

His harsh words felt like heavy blows, pummeling me with their force. I finally ended his tirade when I said, quite calmly, “Never mind. I’ll replace my plants. I’m sorry I bothered you.” And was I ever sorry! I wouldn’t have subjected myself to the vitriol had I known what awaited me. It took me several minutes to stop shaking; much longer for my mind to refrain from replaying his unkind words.

Whoever came up with the ditty, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”, was seriously deluded. I was reminded, yet again, by the unpleasant phone exchange how critically significant our words are. They can build up and encourage or tear down and destroy. Give life or take it.

As was the case in the contrasting scenarios I described when I first wrote about the importance of being a life giver (See “Give life, remix”, November 2015), the life-giving counterbalance came from my daughter Mary’s household. Less than an hour after extricating myself from the ill-fated phone call, I received a video featuring 2-year old Lyla. IMG_0923With a bit of coaching from her mom, my sweet-natured granddaughter proceeded to tell her great-grandmother they were praying for her, hoped she’d feel better and loved her. As my mom, who was recovering from eye surgery, and I watched and re-watched the message through tear-moistened eyes, we were warmed by the affection it embodied. Even at her tender age, Lyla is an encourager, often enthusiastically telling one family member or the other “Good job!” or happily announcing, “I love being with you guys” as she gazes adoringly at us around the dinner table.

In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul wrote, “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.  And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption.  Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice.  Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” [1]

Let us remember the impact our words and actions can have. And in all things, may we seek to follow the example of the ultimate Giver of Life.

[1] Ephesians 4:29-32

Surprise!

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

Another April 19th was drawing to a close. Like all the others since my husband Ray’s sudden death in 1997, it had been a day of remembrance, tinged with sorrow and joy. Each year those seemingly contradictory emotions mingle together as I grieve the loss of a godly, gone-too-soon partner and father, yet rejoice in the assurance I’ll see him again.

My adult daughters and I often text in the evenings, checking in with each other, comparing notes on the day’s activities. As bedtime approached the night of the 19th, Jessie texted, “Check out Sports Center. I think I might be on a Kiss Cam clip from the Hawks game.” Mary and I texted back excitedly that we’d be sure to watch. It was close to midnight so I set my DVR and went to bed. When I checked my phone the next morning, the flurry of texting between the sisters had continued as the video quickly went viral on the internet. Jessie, dubbed “Pizza Girl” by her newly-adoring fans, became an overnight sensation with Twitter posts proclaiming her a “national treasure” and “the hero we need now”. Her Facebook page nearly crashed as friends, including many from grade school and college, posted comments and congratulations. By the end of the week, the clip had appeared on The Today Show, had been picked up by countless internet news and entertainment sites, and had received nearly 2 million views on YouTube.

By now you may be thinking something along the lines of, “I don’t need to read a mother’s blog post wherein she brags about her daughter becoming an internet phenomenon.” But please keep reading. You see, Jessie isn’t really the main protagonist . . . her loving Heavenly Father is . . .

Two weeks before the Kiss Cam video appeared, Jessie and I met for lunch at Panera. When we sat down to eat, Jessie happily proclaimed, “I had two free items on my card, Mom. I needed a win today!” Little did we know, that was just a warm up.

God knows how to give good gifts to his children, ones that are tailor-made for them. Furthermore, his timing is perfect. April 19th will always be a hard day for our family as we mourn our loss and wonder what life might have been like had Ray been with us across all the years he’s been gone. Now, however, there’s a footnote to that day – “Pizza Girl” was introduced to the world and the fun and delight her antics brought to so many will be forever tied to April 19th.

But wait, there’s more. Jessie’s sense of humor has been evident since her earliest days. Her comedic timing is enviable as she entertains family, friends and community theater audiences. And where did her sense of humor come from? Her dad. I can still see them stretched out together on Saturday mornings, watching cartoons and laughing. Yes, I like to think Ray was chuckling right along with everyone else as Jessie devoured those pizza slices, completely overshadowing the couple smooching in front of her.

From something as small as two free Panera items to things as over-the-top as instant internet fame, we can count on our Father to reach out to us with gifts so personal and well-timed they leave no doubt He knows us intimately. May we have eyes that perceive those gifts, hearts that embrace the Giver and lips that sing his praise as we tell others of his amazing love.

One of the last photos taken of Ray, Mary and Jessie. (3-30-97) Ray’s “putting bunny ears” on Mary, a tradition Jessie continued (with fingers instead of an actual bunny) in many family photos over the years.
Jessie found a cat counterpart to the character she portrayed in a recent theater production.
If you haven’t seen Pizza Girl in action, just Google “Pizza Girl on Kiss Cam” and get in on the fun.

The empty nest

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

I’m a frequent visitor at my daughter’s house. Mary has her hands full taking care of three little people under the age of five and I enjoy helping out even though I’m now sorely outnumbered!

Several weeks ago I became aware of a “whoosh” whenever I’d step out the front door and onto their small porch. I soon realized I was being strafed by a mamma bird who’d built her nest in an eave of the portico. She picked a perfect place. Not only were she and her carefully constructed home sheltered from the elements and out of reach of any predators that might happen by, but we could observe from inside the house without disturbing her. My son-in-law peaked into the nest when mamma bird was away and found five tiny eggs. We watched as she faithfully warmed and protected the eggs. And one day we saw five little heads, with open mouths clamoring to be fed. Mamma bird diligently cared for her brood. The little ones grew quickly . . . and then one day I went over . . . and the porch was quiet . . . and they were gone.

Even though we human mothers are given years to nurture our children, time passes so quickly it sometimes seems it’s only days, like the time it took the mother bird to raise her young. Over the years I’ve shared this bittersweet sentiment with other mothers: “If we do our job well, the end result is an independent adult.” Mothering requires a balance of holding on and letting go and the wisdom to know which is needed at any particular time in our children’s lives. It’s a difficult but necessary process.

Yet my own dear mother has often said, “Once a mother, always a mother”, a statement every bit as true as the one I wrote above. I’m convinced the mama bear syndrome knows no age limits. IMG_1073After all, of the many people who were upset when my 30-year career ended via termination, my mom was the most incensed by the treatment I’d received. Even now, at age 84, I have no doubt she’d be my staunchest defender – all 98 pounds of her. And don’t even think about messing with my kids and grandkids!

It’s that time of year – the time of graduations and weddings. So for you mothers reading this and contemplating the emptying of your nests, I offer this: one day you may realize the independent adult you worked so long and hard to raise has become one of your very best friends. Someone who brings joy to your life in new ways as you continue to cheer them on and are blessed by the fruits of your labors, and theirs.

I can still remember driving home after Mary and Justin’s wedding. I thought, “That’s it. I gave her away. It’s all over.” I was so wrong. I gained a son that night and now seven years later, there are those three little people I mentioned at the onset of this post. Mary and Justin’s nest is full and I am welcome there. Welcome to help nurture a new generation and introduce them to plants and mamma birds and to their Savior – the One who loves them even more than I do.

 

A different kind of grief

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

“19 years on the 19th”. That phrase has been echoing in my mind for the past several weeks as yet another anniversary of my husband’s sudden death approached. Shortly after lunch 19 years ago today I told Ray goodbye for the last time . . .

In 1997 the 19th fell on a Saturday. It was a beautiful, warm day, much like today. Life was proceeding normally – Ray left for his job at The Home Depot, I and my young daughters (ages 10 and 7 at the time) went shopping for summer attire. Mary, Jessie and I returned home around 7pm. We weren’t in the house 10 minutes when the phone rang. Chris, a patient care specialist from Kennestone Hospital was calling to tell me Ray had been brought to the emergency room from work and I needed to get there as soon as possible. No other details. It wasn’t until we were in a private room at the hospital that I got the devastating, life-changing news.

After a few questions about Ray’s health, Chris said a doctor would be in to talk to me. I pleaded, “Can’t you at least tell me if he’s alive?” For a moment she just looked at me. I asked more urgently, “Is he alive?” And then came the awful reply, “No, honey, he isn’t.” That scene, her words and the gasp of disbelief that simultaneously escaped me and my little girls will be forever etched in my mind.

But oh how God has comforted, upheld and sustained us across all the years since that fateful night. Over and over again He’s proved himself as a protector of this widow and a Father to my fatherless girls. [1]

Our pastor recently began a sermon series on Philippians. The past two weeks he’s reminded us that Biblically-based joy is not dependent on circumstances. It’s grounded in the assurances of God regarding the past, present and future found in His Word. Our faith won’t exempt us from hardship. Believers will face trials and troubles of various kinds. Jesus told us as much, but He didn’t stop there. He encouraged us to take heart because He’s overcome the world. [2]

We know the end of the story. Even now He’s preparing a place for us.[3] So we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. [4] There will be times when we’re hurt and disappointed, times when we may cry out, “Why, Lord?”, but we won’t be alone for He’s promised to never leave us.[5] In our humanity we’ll experience a full range of emotions associated with the events of our lives – Jesus, fully man, wept over Lazarus’ death even though being fully God, He knew He’d raise him – yet the Truth will allow us to not be controlled by our feelings.

Soon after hearing Chris’s answer, it was as if a giant door slammed shut in my mind. Looking back, I realize I couldn’t have taken in the enormity of it all at one time without crumbling. Instead, the Lord provided a protective, albeit primarily subconscious, bubble of denial and disbelief. It allowed the reality of Ray’s death to drip into my soul bit by bit over weeks and months as I was ready to accept it. In the days immediately after, I was in a state of shock, yet the Lord enabled me to make difficult decisions regarding the visitation, service and Ray’s final resting place. Most amazing, He gave me the strength to speak for a few minutes at the end of his funeral. I’ll close this post with the sentiments I expressed when concluding my remarks that day.

None of us knows when the last goodbye will be said. Keep current in your relationships. Tell your family you love them. Thank your friends. Hug people who are dear to you. Let them know you care. And let us leave today rejoicing because we know Ray is in the presence of God. I believe he’s planting flowers right now and I look forward to joining him in God’s garden one day.

055

 

[1] Psalm 68:5

[2] John 16:33

[3] John 14:2-3

[4] 1 Thessalonians 4:13

[5] Deuteronomy 31:6, 8

Even the rocks

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

Extra responsibilities, mostly of the family variety, have kept me from writing for a while. But they haven’t prevented me from enjoying the beauty of springtime. Indeed every walk I’ve taken, each glance out a window, all the driving back and forth have given me the opportunity to revel in the splendor of the season. Wave after wave of reawakening – cheerful yellow daffodils and forsythia followed by cherry blossoms and early-blooming magnolias, now giving way to azaleas and dogwoods. From the tiniest woodland specimens to the showiest ornamentals, all are praising their Creator and reflecting His glory.

When the Pharisees, jealous of Jesus’ popularity, told him to rebuke his disciples because of their exuberant welcome on what we now celebrate as Palm Sunday, He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.” Let us not be silent. Let us join the happy chorus ringing out around us, as we add our own verses of joyful thanksgiving to our Savior, Lord and King . . . not only on Resurrection Sunday but every day.

May the following photos underscore my hymn of praise this glorious Easter day.

Thrashing about, epilogue

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

Often my blog posts are a result of me needing to remind myself of Truth and then deciding to share it with you, my readers, in hopes it will be an encouragement to you as well. Little did I know when I wrote “Thrashing about” (January 18th) how many times I’d need to tell myself to “stop thrashing” in the weeks that followed.

A new little family member was scheduled to arrive exactly one month after I published that piece and I had things to do and people to see in the interim. Observing my behavior during that month, those closest to me probably wondered what the uproar was about. After all, I must have said “I’ve got to (fill in the blank) because Emma’s coming” dozens of times, like she was a hurricane barreling across the Atlantic and I was battening down the hatches before her arrival. I crossed most of my pre-Emma to dos off before the big day. But the battle against thrashing was far from over.

I took up residence at daughter Mary’s house on the evening of February 17th, knowing I’d be the around-the-clock responsible adult until she and Justin returned with Emma several days later. No big deal, right? I stay with 4 ½-year-old Joshua and 2-year-old Lyla on a regular basis, usually two days a week, eight to ten hours a day. But I go home at night, home where it’s quiet and I can recharge. Being on duty for 60+ hours straight – well, that’s a different story. I wasn’t sleeping or eating normally, much less having a meaningful quiet time. My focus was almost entirely on the immediate demands in front of me. I gradually lost sight of my Center and by the time daughter Jessie arrived Saturday morning to provide back-up, I was so tired physically and mentally I could barely stay on task.

But mid-day Saturday Mary and Justin returned home with baby Emma in tow. As I held her, I marveled at the fact there’s a brand new person to love and get to know. The stress of the previous three days was so worth it – my miniscule contribution to the process of her entrance into the world. After a few more hours, I went home, admittedly looking forward to quiet surroundings and to sleeping in my bed instead of on an air mattress . . .

. . . hmm, the water never got past lukewarm when I was taking my shower. Sure enough, a trek to the basement revealed the hot water heater was leaking. I put a bucket under the drip and spent a restless night praying I wouldn’t find a flood the next morning. I passed Sunday afternoon trying to drain the tank with a garden hose. It drained alright – for five straight hours! Any remaining shred of patience and good humor quickly dissipated when I realized I’d have to turn off the main water supply and spend the night at my parents’ house. I’m sad to say I met their warm welcome with, “I didn’t need this to deal with. I’m too tired. I just wanted to be at home and regroup for a couple of days.” Whine, whine, whine. I imagine I sounded a lot like Jonah when the worm devoured the plant God had provided to shade him from the blazing sun.

I must admit I don’t like myself much when I lose sight of Truth and let circumstances get the best of me. I knew it was time to resort to some major self-exhortation, reminding myself of a hard-learned lesson . . . 

My husband Ray was very even-tempered. For the most part he took things in stride, remaining calm when I’d be all bent out of shape about something. One such time when I was complaining to him about some long-since-forgotten “tragedy”, I had the audacity to ask him, “Does anything short of death upset you?” His reply: “Not much.” Though many years have passed since our conversation, it still saddens me to write those lines. Just a few months after that exchange, I’d learn Ray was oh so right. One of the difficult lessons God taught me in the aftermath of his death and one I never want to forget: there really isn’t much short of death worth getting upset about. Situations that are fixable, even though they may be annoying and require you to spend time and money you’d rather spend elsewhere don’t merit significant hand-wringing, worry or angst. But no matter what we’re facing, be it life-changing or trivial, God has promised to never leave us or forsake us.

I’m blessed my parents live close by. My hot water heater’s been replaced and I slept in my own bed last night. There’s a new baby girl to love, a precious gift from God. The One who tenderly holds me in the palm of his hand knows every detail and will provide for every need. No thrashing required.

IMG_0552

Joshua and Lyla watching over baby Emma

 

Putting on a show

/ Patsy Kuipers / 6 Comments

Last year I decided to get a bird feeder after many years of not having one. I hung it and the suet basket that followed some months later on shepherd’s hooks attached to my deck. I placed them strategically so I can watch for birds when I’m seated at the kitchen table as well as when I gaze out the window over my sink. Many times I’ve been entertained by the antics of my feathered friends. This morning was one such time. As I washed dishes, approximately two dozen birds, including a cardinal, numerous sparrows and goldfinches, a woodpecker and several bluebirds, descended on my deck. I delighted in watching them as they flitted from tree branches to feeder to deck railing to suet, back and forth, taking turns – sometimes patiently, sometimes insistently. I smiled, realizing the Lord was treating me to a show while I worked.

After lunch, I took a break from inside chores and went for a walk through my neighborhood. To some a stroll on an overcast, chilly afternoon might seem unappealing, yet once again I felt God’s goodness surrounding me. The breeze tousled my hair and caused last year’s fallen leaves to scamper across yards. Shafts of sunlight broke through the leaden clouds as patches of brilliant blue dotted the otherwise gray canopy.

Even though the mid-winter landscape may appear barren and lifeless, it’s anything but. I ambled around my property when I got home, expecting to find promising signs of things to come. I wasn’t disappointed.  My witch hazel is covered with dozens of burnt-orange, strap-like flowers; buds and blossoms abound on my Lenten roses Helleborus orientalis (Lenten Rose)which have joyfully spilled out of their beds and into the woods; crocuses are up and blooming, having faithfully reappeared every winter since I planted them over 15 years ago; foliage of species tulips, scilla and camassia, is poking up through leaves and mulch, assuring me the squirrels and chipmunks left at least some of the bulbs I tucked into the soil last November.

Before we know it, the splendor of springtime will be upon us. As creation boisterously sings hallelujahs to the King through a profusion of flowers and new life it will become virtually impossible to miss his glorious gifts. But whether his “I love you” is whispered or shouted, it’s always evident.

For those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, the One who came that we might have life and have it abundantly is constantly putting on a show, wooing us to Himself.

Don’t tempt me

/ Patsy Kuipers / Leave a comment

I wrote my weekend to do list yesterday. I had a good plan, a solid plan, and was hoping to cross off a number of those indoor chores today. But when I woke up this morning I was greeted by radiant sunshine and a brilliant blue sky. IMG_0420I checked the forecast. Yes! Afternoon temps in the 60’s; one of those warm mid-winter days we can look forward to in the South. Instead of being a facilitator to help accomplish my goals for the day, my to do list suddenly became an obstacle to fulfilling my craving to spend time outside – a desire which sprang up as soon as I realized what a beautiful day it was going to be.

I had an internal debate with myself as I prepared breakfast. Should I stick with my original plan, suck it up and get my work done or permit myself to go outside and indulge in one of my favorite activities? Decisions, decisions. Knowing how much I enjoy working in my yard, a friend suggested I postpone my chores and spend at least a few moments outside. Furthermore, he pointed out the extended forecast is calling for clouds tomorrow and rain by Monday. Perfect! Just what I needed – someone to support me in going with Plan B. When I got dressed for the day, I went ahead and put on a pair of old jeans I reserve for working outside . . . just in case I decided to enjoy those few moments. Shortly after noon, I went to get the mail. That did it. Any sliver of resolve I might have been holding onto regarding sticking to my original plan for the day quickly dissolved as I felt the warmth of the sun.

I ate lunch, happily anticipating the outdoor moments I was going to allow myself. Those moments turned into over 2 ½ hours. I could make a persuasive argument that I and my garden benefitted greatly from the time I spent outside. After all, I consider gardening to be one of the best forms of therapy and cool season annual weeds had almost taken over the front bed, encouraged into proliferation by our abnormally warm pre-Christmas weather. But as I knelt pulling up handfuls of chickweed, I couldn’t help but think how easy it is to convince ourselves to give into our desires.

. . . Even when we know what’s required of us and the stakes are much higher than not getting our chores done . . . Even when we believe the One who’s established the boundaries and shown us the way only wants what’s best for us . . .

Isn’t that what happened in the first Garden? And nothing’s ever been the same.