The Gardener

When we moved in to our house, the garden was undeveloped. It was a small patch of grass, with a shed. And those things are still there, but they’ve been joined now by a row of roses at the back, with jasmine and passion flowers growing against the wall. Blueberry bushes bloom on one side, with strawberries and grapes beside them. On the other side is an apple tree, a plum tree, and a collection of pots growing a collection of colourful flowers that Jessica cuts and gives away or brings inside for us to enjoy. This year, we’re expanding our window boxes to hold even more flowers. As I write today there are rows of seedlings on the back stoop, reaching up and acclimatising, being prepared for planting—because none of this growth happens overnight. We’ve lived here seven years now, and the progress has been slow. It is measured in months and seasons and years, not hours and days. It was my wife, Jessica, who saw what our undeveloped little plot could become and patiently worked over the years to bring that vision to life. As I go outside to look at the buds forming and opening this spring, I see the fruit of her careful attention and I rise up and bless her for bringing such abundance and beauty to our home.

Then I turn back to the house, and as I enter it I see that the gardener has been busy here, as well. I don’t just mean the thriving house plants—we do have those, and they are beautiful. Those plants are only part of the life growing here, a part that I think of as a sign and a symbol of the little garden that is our family, our life here together. I see the fruit of the gardener’s labour everywhere. It is not a work measured in hours and days but in months and seasons and years and decades. Patiently, Jessica has planted and watered with the love of God in our marriage, in our children, and in so many other people who pass through these walls and through it all our home and our lives have grown and bloomed in ways I could have hardly believed when we started out with the undeveloped plot of our life together. I’m not saying it’s all been easy—not at all. There have been times we foolishly worked against each other and there were storms and droughts to deal with, dark nights and long winters, times we wondered if anything good could ever bloom again. But it did. And through it all the gardener kept going, kept tending and weeding and watering, even if it was with her tears, praying always for the growth that only God can give and recognising the privilege of planting his love in the people he put around her.

Our garden, our house, and our family are all small—but there is a growing abundance in all of them that would never have been possible without Jessica’s determined perseverance and steadfast refusal to give up no matter how hard it was. I see the steady growth of the years building up in the garden behind the house, and I see it in our family, too. The seedlings planted years ago are becoming sturdy, thriving plants, and the fruit of the gardener’s hard work is making our days together sweeter and sweeter with time.

Happy birthday, Jessica. I have grown so much because of you—and my whole life has bloomed in ways I never imagined possible because of your patient care and commitment. I love gardening with you.