5 Years!

IMG_1369Any of you who’ve read my posts for more than a few months know I’m intentional about recognizing all kinds of milestones and anniversaries. Depending on what’s being recalled, it may be a solemn remembrance, such as marking another year without my beloved husband, or one accompanied by a special commemorative treat for an accomplishment.

Though I have yet to figure out what the reward will be, this post is a celebration of the latter type, specifically the 5-year anniversary of launching Back 2 the Garden. After several months of contemplation, my desire to use my God-given writing abilities to tell others of His great faithfulness triumphed over my concerns that no one would be interested in what I had to say. I published my first post, “Consider it all Joy”, on July 1, 2014. Today’s post is my 136th!

My original goals included posting once a week and writing helpful horticulture tips from time to time. Do the math and you’ll see I’ve averaged posting closer to every two weeks. As for the hort hints? Other than my annual pleas of “Please no crape murder!”, they never materialized, as I realized the importance of staying focused on my primary objective – delivering Scripture-based encouragement wrapped in simple stories.

I can count the years and the number of posts, however I’ve lost track of the number of times I thought about quitting. WordPress stats give me some post-related insights, but, unless someone comments, likes or follows, I don’t know who’s reading or what they think. Nonetheless, every time I’ve come close to giving up my tiny bit of real estate in the great global blogosphere, God has provided the nudge I need to continue:

  • A stat will pop up indicating someone on the other side of the world accessed one of my posts, followed by a podcast describing how new technologies are making Christian content more accessible in closed countries.
  • A fellow writer will blog about the importance of stewarding our stories well, of using our gifts and graces to glorify the One who is the Fount of every blessing.
  • A longtime follower will comment on a specific line from a post and how it resonated with her.

And so I keep writing, trusting God to help me put words together in a meaningful manner, to use them in ways I may never know, all for His glory.

Thank you for coming alongside me on this journey, dear readers, for allowing me to share my thoughts, concerns, and hopes, even my failings, with you. I pray you’ll be encouraged as you read the stories God puts on my heart.

In closing, here’s one of the quotes God used to renew my writing resolve earlier this year:

“If you’re a writer, forget about your place in the hierarchy. You don’t have a place in the hierarchy because there is no hierarchy in any meaningful sense. What you have is a territory—a little patch of ground that is yours to cultivate. Your patch of ground is your unique combination of experiences and perspective and voice and loves and longings and community. Tend that patch of ground. Work hard. Be disciplined. Get better. Your patch of ground and your community are worth it.” (Jonathan Rogers)

I appreciate my community (you all!) and, with the Lord’s help, I’ll endeavor to cultivate my patch of ground (Back 2 the Garden) in such a way that it may bear much fruit for Him.

The countdown

Each year as the anniversary of my husband Ray’s death approaches, I intentionally, day-by-day, review the details of our last week together. It’s my way of honoring his memory, of thanking God for the blessing of a godly husband and reminding myself not to take anything for granted, especially time with our loved ones.

I began my annual tradition yesterday. It included an impromptu stop at The Home Depot Woodstock (GA) where Ray worked as head of the indoor gardening department. Though I make frequent visits to The Home Depot closest to my house, I couldn’t remember the last time I was at that particular store, but I was in the area and paying a visit seemed a fitting part of my remembering. On April 13, 1997, I was driving back from Charlotte, NC with my elementary-aged daughters, Mary and Jessie. We’d spent the week of spring break with my parents. Ray was working his usual 1pm to 10pm Sunday shift. I called to let him know we made it home safely and again later to report on Tiger Woods’ first-of-several Masters wins, that one at the age of 21 and by a margin of 12 strokes, a record that still stands.

Funny how all those details coalesced in such a way that retrieving one allows me to retrieve them all.

The store was busy, as it no doubt was on Ray’s last Sunday there. I entered through the outdoor gardening section, and made my way to the space between it and the main store – Ray’s domain, indoor gardening. My breathing deepened and tears welled as I stepped through the door. I immediately sensed Ray’s presence as I gazed at the beautifully arrayed houseplants. My mind conjured up the now-gone potting desk, along with visions of previous visits over two decades ago when Ray walked me around his department enthusiastically pointing out changes he’d made. I could almost hear his laughter, feel his kindness as he patiently waited on customers and answered their questions. It was a worthwhile stop, a meaningful beginning to this year’s reminiscences.

Our final week was oh-so-normal, with the girls back to school and Ray and I working at our respective jobs. Then came Saturday evening. Ray’s sudden death shattered normal as we knew it and stole our dreams for the future.

Just as I deliberately call to mind the events of my last week with Ray, I purposefully remember Jesus’ last week – the triumphal entry on what we now celebrate as Palm Sunday; His final Passover celebration with His disciples, washing their feet and instituting the Lord’s Supper; the fervent pleas in the Garden of Gethsemane; Judas’ betrayal; the mock trials, the scourging; the agony of the cross; His final words. Unlike me and my family, who proceeded through our week blissfully unaware of what lay ahead, Jesus knew exactly what He would endure, yet He set His face to go to Jerusalem (Luke 9:51).

Jesus tried to tell His disciples, but they couldn’t grasp the enormity of it all. They were still hoping for a more immediate kingdom and shared power (Matthew 20:20-21), so when the guards took Him away, they scattered, afraid for their own lives (Mark 14:50). Even Peter, self-avowed-loyal-to-the-end Peter, denied his Lord (Luke 22:54-62). And when Jesus died? Their hopes and plans died too (Luke 24:21a). Or so they thought.

But then Sunday came, with the best news EVER, news that restored hope, news that changed everything FOREVER: He is Risen! (Matthew 28:6; Mark 16:6; Luke24:5-6)

Two men. Both demonstrated unconditional love, One in the most ultimate sense. Every so often the commemorative countdowns to the anniversaries of their deaths overlap, at least partially, as they do this year. And when they do, it softens the blow of one loss by magnifying the sacrificial benefits of the other. Because Jesus died and rose again, death doesn’t have the final say (1 Corinthians 15:54-57).

IMG_0972Dear readers, as we enter Holy Week, I encourage you to read through the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ last week on earth. Meditate on His final teachings. Contemplate the single-mindedness of His actions on our behalf. Ponder His supplications in the High Priestly Prayer (John 17). And let us never forget what it cost Him to redeem us.

Purposeful Pondering

There are a number of days and seasons throughout the year when I intentionally open my figurative chest of memories, select the appropriate box and carefully remove the lid so I can inspect the contents. Sometimes the momentous events which trigger my reflections were joyfully anticipated, like the births of my daughters and grandchildren. But others, like the sudden death of my husband, came without warning and brought deep sorrow and bewilderment. Irrespective of the emotions associated with the initial event, I choose to remember. Because time offers perspective. And anniversaries provide opportunities to reflect on God’s goodness.

Eight years ago today, I awoke to my first day of unemployment in over three decades. Although not completely unexpected, the news the day before that I was no longer needed because my job was being eliminated left me numb and disoriented. I recognized those feelings, milder versions of the shock I felt after my husband’s unexpected death.

Unlike the previous afternoon when the slate sky matched the tenor of the windowless conference room where I received my termination notice, the morning was drenched in brilliant sunlight. In spite of my surreal circumstances, I held onto hope every bit as bright as the sunshine streaming through my windows. In fact, I posted the following status on Facebook:

“30+ years of continuous employment came to a halt yesterday when my job was eliminated. God obviously has something else for me to do. I can’t wait to see what it is!”

Even though I was uncertain how being unemployed would affect my life, I rested in the certainty that my life was exactly where it had been before I lost my job – secure in the hands of the One who declares the end from the beginning (Isaiah 46:9-10), who has a plan for good and not harm (Jeremiah 29:11). The previous day’s events did not surprise Him or catch Him off-guard.

I reminded myself of another windowless room where I and my elementary-aged daughters were told the unthinkable – that our beloved husband and father had succumbed to a fatal heart attack – and I recalled God’s provision across the 13 ½-intervening years. He’d graciously allowed me to work as long as my daughters depended on me for support. Single parent, sole provider, but underneath were the everlasting arms (Deuteronomy 33:27) of the One who’s promised to never leave us or forsake us. (Deuteronomy 31:8)

img_0495Even so, I couldn’t have imagined all God had in store for me. A mere two days after losing my job, I contacted the admissions office at the local community college to inquire about enrolling in their horticulture program. Six months later, my first grandchild was born. Joshua was my study buddy, as I strolled him around the neighborhood while practicing my new-found plant identification skills. He, along with my mom and daughter Mary were present at my graduation ceremony the following year. Yes, 18 months after losing my job, I fulfilled my dream of acquiring an Environmental Horticulture diploma. God is truly able to do far more than all we ask or think. (Ephesians 3:20-21)

Two more grandchildren, Lyla and Emma, have joined our family. I’m blessed to spend a couple of days a week with them and big-brother Joshua. I volunteer at a local botanical garden. I started this blog. I’m available to help my aging parents. I’m a member of our Women’s Ministry Committee. Engaging in these activities would be impossible if I was still working in my cubicle, making carpet samples and visiting customers. For a time, that was my work, but now God has other work for me to do. (Ephesians 2:10) And I am grateful for both seasons of my life.

I don’t know what you may be going through, dear reader. Maybe your life is relatively free of difficulties, but we know troubles of various kinds will come. Jesus said as much. However, He also told us not to fear because He would be with us to the end. (John 16:33; Matthew 28:20b) So let us call to mind the good He’s already done for us, in full assurance that His compassions never fail. They are new every morning. And may we be diligent in telling our children and their children of His great faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-24)

When all the nation had finished passing over the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua, “Take twelve men from the people, from each tribe a man, and command them, saying, ‘Take twelve stones from here out of the midst of the Jordan, from the very place where the priests’ feet stood firmly, and bring them over with you and lay them down in the place where you lodge tonight.’” Then Joshua called the twelve men from the people of Israel, whom he had appointed, a man from each tribe. And Joshua said to them, “Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the midst of the Jordan, and take up each of you a stone upon his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the people of Israel, that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, ‘What do those stones mean to you?’ then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever.” (Joshua 4:1-7)

 

Milestones and memories

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Self-picked numbers on a Powerball ticket? Nope! Those numbers relate to early-August marital milestones:

  • 8-1-2008 – Ten years ago, daughter Mary and her high school sweetheart, Justin, tied the knot outdoors on a muggy summer evening. At the reception which followed, over 300 family members and friends joyfully celebrated the union of two young people they had watched grow up.
  • 8-5-1951 – My parents said their vows before a South Carolina Justice of the Peace since Dad’s brief leave from the Air Force wouldn’t accommodate the church ceremony Mom hoped for. Their now-67 years together are a true testament to the power of prayer and perseverance.
  • 8-5-1983 – Ray and I married on Mom and Dad’s 32nd wedding anniversary in a stuffy, air-conditionless sanctuary filled with wilting attendees, some of whom still refer to our ceremony as the hottest wedding EVER. For the past week, I’ve been reminiscing, yearning to celebrate a 35th anniversary with my long-departed spouse.

I’d always dreamed of a spring wedding. But when I met my prince charming, he hailed from South Dakota farm country and spring is planting season. Someone suggested August as the best month for our mid-western relatives to travel. The 5th fell on a Friday that year, so it seemed like a great idea to get married on my parents’ anniversary, making the event doubly-special.

IMG_638125 years later, Mary and Justin chose to wed in the warmest month of the year too, but by then, there was no dad to walk Mary down the aisle. Instead, she bravely trod the runner-clad distance herself, since no one could take the place of the man who first captured her little-girl heart. I linked arms with her to walk the last few steps to the altar, then gave her away, without reservation, to a young man I knew her dad would not only approve of, but would have been good friends with. A single red rose[1] and an empty chair next to mine served to remind all in attendance of the one we carried in our hearts.

There are no days when thoughts of Ray don’t inhabit my mind, not a single one when I don’t long to talk to him. But there are some seasons when the thoughts are more numerous, the recollections bittersweet. April, the month of his passing, and August, laden with anniversaries of all those family nuptials, bring with them so many memories. My reminiscences are occasionally punctuated with, “Why, Lord?” The question escapes my soul not in a shake-my-fist manner as you might imagine, but like a deep, lonely sigh. From my finite human perspective, having Ray with us all these years seems like a better storyline. Surely we would have benefitted greatly from the presence of a godly, loving husband and father and now, grandfather, right?

I distinctly remember the point in my grieving process when I had to wrestle with the fact Ray’s death was no accident. Accepting God’s sovereignty was a critically important crossroads in my faith journey. I knew God hadn’t glanced away only to turn back and be surprised to see Ray in the throes of a fatal heart attack. No, God never lost sight of Ray. (Psalm 34:15) Each one of my beloved husband’s days was written in God’s book before even one came to be. (Psalm 139:16)

Within hours of Ray’s passing, I posed a question to one of our pastors, “Do you think Ray can see us? Not to see how sad we are, but to know how much we love him?”

Pastor Allen replied kindly, carefully, “Scripture isn’t clear on what the departed know, but God can make known to them whatever He sees fit.”

I’ve often prayed God would let Ray discern how much I love him, to know there’s a place in my heart only he can fill and to see the lasting, positive impact of his unconditional love on my life. And on the many momentous days we’ve experienced without him – high school and college graduations, weddings, the births of three precious grandchildren – I’ve pleaded, “Lord, please help Ray to see. This is his legacy too.”

Yes, my heart aches when I envision how things could have been. Yet I know my story would be so different if Ray had been with me all these years. I most likely wouldn’t have gone back to school to study horticulture. I may not have started this blog. And I’m certain I wouldn’t comprehend the love and faithfulness of my Father as intimately, had I not been depending on Him instead of my earthly husband. (Psalm 68:5)

God writes our stories in such a way that we’ll be conformed more and more to the likeness of Jesus, fitted for eternal life with Him. (Romans 8:28-30) And how better to know our Savior than to partake of God’s sustaining grace through times of hardship and sorrow, to die to self-will and accept God’s plan as best. (Matthew 26:36-39) It’s not all about happiness in the here-and-now, but it does have a delightful ending and a promise of eternal peace and joy in His presence. (Psalm 16:11)

IMG_6379My grandchildren are getting old enough to understand the man by my side in the wedding photo on Mary’s wall is their grandpa in heaven. My heart leapt yesterday when 2-year-old Emma mentioned Grandpa Kuipers for the first time. I love telling them about Ray, sharing his love for God and people and plants and assuring them they’ll get to meet him one day.

As I’ve thought about my would-be 35th anniversary and 13-year marriage, a line kept skipping through my mind: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” And so I smile, because Ray and I did happen. I praise God for blessing me with a godly husband, whose love and influence continue to this day and who I’ll surely see again. Our marriage was so short, but, in light of eternity, our temporary separation will be as well. (2 Corinthians 4:17-18)

[1] Please see, “A single red rose” in Archives, December 2014, to understand the significance of this floral choice.

Remember Me

Our final fortnight, one fateful day, the following week – each year when the wheel of time comes to rest on another April, I intentionally, tenderly open my drawer of memories and recall the happenings of the fourth month of 1997.[1] Even after 21 years, the details are clear, etched in my mind because of the life-changing impact of the central event.

Daughters, 10-year-old Mary and 7-year-old Jessie, and I spent Spring break week with my parents, returning home on April 13th. As we prepared to re-enter our worlds of work and school, we had no notion our remaining time with Ray, our beloved husband and father, would be so short.

I cherish the final evenings we spent at home, particularly the last time Ray and I walked the property together. He pointed out favorite plants and talked of future landscaping plans, some of which I’ve implemented over the years. Before we strolled our yard, we went for a walk in the neighborhood. Ray’s inability to reach the top of what we referred to as the “big hill” due to a shortness of breath was my first inkling anything might be wrong. Nonetheless, the next few days proceeded normally enough, until the moment that Saturday night when my young daughters and I heard the news that forever shattered normal as we knew it.

Anticipating an upcoming conference and another customer visit as I completed my biannual season of travel, I kept telling myself, “One more hard week, then I can put my suitcases away for a few months.” Oh how I wish I’d been able to keep those commitments! They would have been so easy to handle compared to what occurred instead, resulting in what is still the most difficult week of my life: calling family and friends to tell them of Ray’s fatal heart attack; planning and attending his services – visitation Wednesday evening, funeral Thursday morning, burial Friday afternoon in the cemetery of a tiny country church in North Carolina. The familiarity of boarding a plane and sleeping in a hotel would have been far preferable to the uncharted waters I was forced to navigate. I coped with one unthinkable decision at a time as my shock-shrouded mind struggled to process reality.

A torrent of regrets came rushing in. The girls and I were finishing lunch when Ray left for work. Why hadn’t I gotten up to hug him goodbye? Why didn’t I call him that afternoon to see how his day was going? Why wasn’t I kinder in general? Why was I such an awful wife? No time to say goodbye, no opportunity to apologize, no chance to say “I love you” one more time. The remorse and sorrow mingled, creating a bitter brew.

Over two decades have come and gone since, tempering both of those strong emotions. Although I still miss Ray every day and wish I could share my life with him, the raw, searing pain has diminished. I also have a more balanced view of our marriage. I know the measure of what we felt for each other wasn’t predicated on what did or didn’t happen during our last moments together. In fact, our love for each other and our daughters fueled my determination to finish what Ray and I had started, to honor his memory by raising our girls well. Furthermore, his love for me was unconditional. God used it to bless and change me. Its healing impact has endured. Talking about Ray – his character, his faith and, yes, even his foibles – comes naturally to me. I want others to know and remember him, because he’s too special to forget.

This week, I have the pleasure of vacationing in Delaware, visiting gardens and longtime friends, opening other memory-laden drawers in my mind. Not only did I grow up in this area, but Ray and I met, married and started our family here. Contrary to what you might expect, recollections of those early years together have been accompanied by deep joy and abiding thankfulness. Even though I would have chosen to spend many more seasons in wedlock than in widowhood, I praise God for blessing me with a godly husband at all and for our progeny which now includes three wonderful grandchildren.

During his Easter sermon,[2] our pastor reminded us that Jesus’ resurrection ensures not only eternal spiritual life for those who call on Him as Lord and Savior, but that our physical bodies will be raised – whole, incorruptible, no longer susceptible to the ravages of aging or sickness.[3]

055When I visit the cemetery where Ray is laid to rest, I usually sit on the coping surrounding my grandparents’ graves. There I contemplate what it will be like when Jesus returns. In addition to Ray and my much-loved Murve and Papa, my baby sister, several aunts and uncles and a pair of great-grandparents are sleeping there, awaiting the call to arise. We can be assured that glorious day will come to pass, because God keeps His promises.[4] He sent a Savior, who bore our sins and paid the debt we could never pay so that we could take on His righteousness and dwell in His Holy Presence forever. [5] Jesus is preparing a place. He’ll summon us Home.[6]

Each April when I mark another anniversary of Ray’s sudden death, I remind myself I’m another year closer to seeing his beautiful brown eyes again and hearing his happy laughter. I’ll finally get to give him the long-delayed hug. Our reunion is guaranteed by the priceless blood shed on our behalf by the One worthy of all glory, praise and honor,[7] the One too precious to forget.[8]

 

[1] Please see “In remembrance”, Archives, April 2015 for my explanation of “memory drawers”.

[2] “Why the Resurrection of Jesus Matters”, Pastor Ben Duncan, April 1, 2018, Grace Covenant Church.

[3] 1 Corinthians 15:52-57

[4] Hebrews 10:23

[5] 1 Peter 1:3-5

[6] John 14:2-3

[7] Revelation 5:12

[8] Luke 22:19

Always remember

When anniversaries of momentous days come around, I find I’m able to recall the events in great detail. For example, my wedding day, the birthdays of my daughters and grandchildren, and the day Ray was called Home are all etched in my mind . . . .

. . . as is the day I learned my job had been eliminated.

January 26, 2011 was overcast and chilly, a typical mid-winter day. I was anticipating my annual review at three o’clock that afternoon. My emotions went back and forth between calm and concern throughout the day. To say things hadn’t been going well in the year since I started reporting to a new manager was an understatement. In fact, the situation had deteriorated to the point I told my family I expected to be put on probation or terminated. I’m sure they felt my statement was hyperbole, a by-product of the stress I’d been under. I, however, was most sincere. In looking back, I believe that premonition was a gift, God’s way of preparing me for the news I would hear.

I went to the appointed conference room at the scheduled time. A few minutes later my manager entered, accompanied by her boss. His presence was my first clue this wouldn’t be a normal review. My suspense didn’t last long as my manager said, “I know you’re expecting to have your annual review, but you won’t be having it because your job has been eliminated.” My first thought: “This is real.” My second: “Thank you, Lord, for giving me an absolute answer.” Indeed it was a clear, decisive response to all the prayers for wisdom I and faithful friends had been praying, as I wondered if I should continue working or resign.

I was told the HR manager would be in to explain the details of my termination. Within the hour I’d turned in my computer, my badge and my company credit card. As I drove home, a protective numbness settled in. Just like that, my 30-year career came to an end. I wasn’t even able to say goodbye and there was certainly no opportunity for a retirement party.

The next morning I awoke to a familiar feeling and realized I was in a mild state of shock, not as deep as the one I’d experienced when Ray died suddenly, but a surreal sense of loss nonetheless. A significant part of my life had ended abruptly and was no longer accessible to me.

12-17-2012-me-and-joshua-at-graduation-3-2But my story was far from over. On January 28th, a mere two days after that fateful meeting, I contacted the admissions office at a local technical college and started the enrollment process to study horticulture. Six months later, my first grandchild was born. Joshua was present when I received my Environmental Horticulture diploma in December 2012. Two more grandchildren, Lyla and Emma, have joined our family. My days are full and my interests are many. I am blessed to have meaningful relationships. I am thankful.

When I awoke this morning, there was a tinge of sadness. I wish my career had ended differently. There are co-workers and customers I still miss and remember fondly. But, most of all, on this beautiful sunny day, I hark back across six years and praise God for working all things together for good.[1]

On multiple occasions, God commanded the Israelites to remember what he’d done for them, to tell their children, even to set up memorial stones so they wouldn’t forget his mighty deeds on their behalf.[2] Last week I had the pleasure of a lengthy phone call with a dear friend. Our relationship stretches across 35 years. We’ve known each other long enough and well enough to compare notes on dating, marriage, motherhood and, now, grand-motherhood. We’ve prayed for each other and watched as God’s plan has unfolded for us and our families. And we agree that one of the best things about getting older is having more and more instances to look back on to remind ourselves of all God has done. He is faithful. He keeps his promises. He never forsakes his own.[3]

At three o’clock this afternoon, I recollected how it felt to sit in that windowless conference room and receive the news of my termination. But those memories were quickly eclipsed by recalling all God’s done since. What an adventure he had in store for me!

Though there are times we can’t understand his ways[4], we can always trust him to have a plan – a good and perfect plan.[5]

[1] Romans 8:28

[2] See, for example, Deuteronomy 4:9, Psalm 103:2, Joshua 4 and Deuteronomy 6

[3] Deuteronomy 31:8

[4] Isaiah 55:8-9

[5] Jeremiah 29:11

Another year

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.