The Patient Gardener

I have garden beds on the side of my house that I don’t deserve.

When we bought the property, this was one of the features that was highlighted in the listing. “Professional landscaping! Tri-level garden beds that bask in the southern exposure!”

But I’m so terrible at weeding these garden beds — they become overgrown quickly, and I shudder to imagine what the previous owners would think of me if they drove by. I’m afraid they would write me off as lazy or disinterested, when really I’m just exhausted and busy. Every time I try to garden, one of my little assistant gardeners runs near the road and I must abandon the project to save them.

So, my husband, bless his heart, is the savior of these garden beds. He goes out there in the cool of the evening to pluck up the weeds that threaten to overtake this beautiful little garden. Patiently and tenderly, he restores it to a presentable state. Without him, they would be lost.

Perhaps I love these garden beds so much because I identify with them. If I were a garden, I would also be a mess, and people who have no time for messes would write me off as hopeless. We all need a savior to stick up for us, to come and quietly prune the unsightly growths that have taken root in our souls and turn the soil that has sat undisturbed for too long. 

What I love most about our Savior is that he didn’t — doesn’t — give up on us. “Give me more time,” he says to the Master. “I can still fix this one.”

©LPi