Feed Troughs For My Birthday!

Chapter 1
It is more than a year since my last post.  My husband's health and mine, has kept us pretty busy going to doctors and learning about the medicines we take.  What actually can cause you more difficulty than help you get well, and all that necessary knowledge stuff.  It seems that society has turned our whole world into a big well of health related waters, in which I feel like I am drowning.  And it is bringing our age related issue to the front and center of everything in our lives.  Such is the  reality of getting older I suppose. This isn't exactly  how I wanted to open this blog, but it does lead into what being in the Garden has meant to me this year. Because this year my garden got sick. And now it is getting old.

Fall weather is approaching, with nippy evenings and fairly cold nights.  It is warning me that I have only a little time to get the things that are important to me, to save them from freezing, into the Greenhouse.
My Grandson prefers to call it the White House, because when I put on new plastic, it is white, not green. As a little fellow, he didn't understand the concept of keeping the plants alive as being "green." A word whose concept has really changed in the last 20 years.  Now, there is so much talk about "keeping the planet green," a concept which often seems to eliminate God in the process altogether. I fear for my grandchildren and their concept of God, of his control of this world, and his directives about a real garden.  I cannot think of my garden without being reminded of those concepts, and I fear they may never know of them.



The greenhouse in the background
"WhiteHouse"

But this summer, I had the greatest opportunity to spend time with my oldest Grandson in the garden, and share with him a little about what God and Garden mean to me.

The plan for my garden had become overwhelming, because my health has begun to push me into perpetual "slow" mode. After several falls, and rehab, my back issues made it difficult to move things around the way I once could. It's sort of the total motivation for including elevated beds into my garden plan in the first place.  I began with a dream of how it could look, after sitting and pondering the amount of space I had, for hours sometime. And after drawing up sketches of unfinished ideas, I actually thought most of it was a pipe-dream. So I wouldn't finish the sketches. I couldn't imagine how it could all come to pass.

At this moment, I am profoundly and deeply thankful to the Father for taking the desires of my heart, which I could scarcely get my own head around, and making them a reality.  But it required some help. Human hands, and a good strong back.  It's just like God to provide for the need, though. It's one of the ways I know there is a God.  He takes the things hidden deep within your heart and blesses them. In fact, I often wonder if the Holy Spirit isn't the author of them - the good dreams of being prosperous in some way. Of challenging us to plant something which we hope will grow.  Whether it will be an actual plant, or just a vision - a dream of planting the seed to a business or adventure, or any other way that the metaphor can relate to life. Jesus used the seed planting stories to describe so many life issues, and he always encouraged us to put faith into the planting of any seed, so that faith itself becomes what God uses to bless the planting of it.

Before I wax too deep, and mar the floor, let me return to my story. My husband and I knew this year as the winter broke into spring, that we needed some help to just get dirt into the beds I had prepared the year before.  He had bought me most of the tools I needed to make my raised beds a reality. And he did that on faith in my dream, never really knowing how I could use the crazy tools I wanted to buy.


We were in the local feed and hardware store one day, and I saw large oval troughs intended to provide a sturdy long lasting, element resisting means of feeding cattle and horses.  They were black and made of  some kind of plastic.  Not children's toy pool's plastic, but rather, the stuff that never wears out, and when it's way past it's use, you can't destroy it.  The kind which, once upon a time, faded from bright joyful colors to sad worn grays; so sad that your children didn't even want to touch those toys anymore...evidenced by the way the kids tossed them into a corner of the yard, where they sat in the children's junk yard until you figured how to haul them away. Haul them, feeling guilty that they would never break down in the land fill. That kind of plastic.  But somehow, I figured these large black troughs actually provided a wonderful use for such plastics once recycled, and it was not going to fade in color at all. I liked that about them.

Not so pretty yet.

These troughs came in a variety of sizes, some as large as about 5x4 feet long and wide,  and over 2 feet deep. Some looked like they were the size to feed baby goats and other small animals.  But to me, they looked like instant raised bed gardens.  Deep ones, like you might could grow potatoes in. Checking to see if they had drain holes, which, I assumed they must have, were to clean out old water,  and I was relieved to find them, and to think I didn't have to drill into that dense plastic, to make them work.  But how would I ever get enough dirt to fill even one of them?  That would be costly. Maybe I could slowly make composted dirt over time, but that would take a couple of years to be viable soil.  So I walked away from these magic instant solutions just dreaming of how I might use them. How I could make my gardens gain space, by implementing the organization fact that I swear by. "Never see the space you have as just floor space, always keep looking up." In other words, you gain space as you see your space as 3 dimensional.

  For example, a 10 x 10 plot of ground space doubles, and then some, as you make it into a mound of dirt rather than a flat square of dirt. Many plants also appreciate the drainage factor and ability to get extra sun to all of it's leaves if you plant on a hill.  My grandfather preferred to plant his garden on a hill for the many advantages it provided, not to mention  that it made themselves very strong to climb that hill, to be able to plant into it.  But I dreamed of something more small scale than my grandparents' gardens. Something to make the most use of my limited back yard square footage.

2 black bins, upside down, and one filled with water bottles for drainage, waiting for me to wait on God....

3 areas I wanted  to use for planting, could become much more useful, if they became large mounds.  And since it is a principle employed in many botanical, or decorative city gardens, through which I love to stroll, I knew how professionals and trained horticulturists took advantage of this bit of info. I had even traveled to Georgia to the Gardens of Helen to take pictures of such gardens, where dirt piled up and banks walled up became masses of flowers, which enhance the beauty of this little tourist town.  I had spent several days walking the streets, taking picture after picture of how they used the land. I knew I was only a learner, but the wheels turned in my imagination, every time I visited these compact and high impact gardens.

So with a head full of possibilities, I was still in dreaming stage. While I  was watching the sunlight move through my garden during the day, to know if I could grow sun loving flowers, and also a few veggies I thought about a plant plan.  As I read the messages on the plant stakes in garden sections of our local stores, I realized that many living things, ask only for about 6 hours of full sun.  Some actually preferred partial sun, or a max of 4 hours of light.  I already had a number of shade lovers, which needed to be planted in the ground, and as I took pictures of my own garden, a light plan began to form.  The garden itself began to show me where things had to be planted.  And I discovered that my dream could become a reality, if I only had tons more dirt. Literally, tons. But to hold up that dirt, there had to be walls, for even the feeding troughs were only a fraction of the size I needed to make the beds work.  I also needed rock and interlocking wall block.

Now as I dreamed, I realized how much money, Helen had put into their gardens.  Even dirt  would be hundreds of dollars.  Now the 2 $65.00 troughs which I initially thought would be my greatest expense, seemed minimal as I added it up.  When I shared my vision with my husband, he caught the dream, much to my surprise.  So on my birthday, I was given two of the largest feed troughs, and two of the smaller ones.  A round one and an oval one.  Wow! Now it seemed that making the raised mounds was something I had to do, not just dream of.  My husband, however said, his dream was to use one of the smaller troughs as a tiny pond with a bubbler or fountain, which left me exactly 3 to form a plan around. 

The more he saw me trying to figure out the least expensive way to produce dirt from compost, and the compost piles shrank as they decayed, making the process very slow, he insisted I buy some packaged dirt. So after we brought home 10 or more of the largest bags they sell, when on sale, - several times - without making a dent in the plan, we realized that the expense was not reasonable.  I literally ended the year with my black bins turned upside down. Even the first raised bed I built from reclaimed lumber and flashing, needed new dirt to refill it next year for planting, before I could even think of filling the troughs, much less building mounds. 

First raised bed from Recycled lumber and flashing

Jimmy couldn't imagine what I was dreaming. What husband can get into our minds?  And no amount of trying to explain allowed him to imagine the huge amount of dirt and rock I needed. All I could do was pray: "God you seem to be the author of my imaginings, so I am praying for dirt."  I really want it to be free, like the wood you gave us for the outdoor furniture or the mulch you provided for the pathways. I will know you are in it, if it's free".  But free dirt was not in God's plan.

I waited and waited on free dirt.  We researched buying dirt from landscape providers, and determined how much our old truck could haul in one load.  We tried to estimate how many loads it would take to fill the mounds up to the level I desired. And then I broke the news to my anxious spouse, that before I could buy dirt, I had a lot of foundation work to do. It required rock and block, on which I also didn't want to spend a fortune.

I set my anchor on verses like this one which just happens to be on the BibleGateway site this morning as I write this.
Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.
Psalm 27:14 NIV

 I waited and  prayed, far longer than my husband was willing. But when I started showing him the hundreds of dollars it would take to just move forward and buy stuff, and explained that my guilt for putting other needs aside for a mere dream, seemed too frivolous for me, he allowed me to just dream for a bit. I was willing to wait for God's plan to play out, so Jimmy relinquished, although he continued to want me to just go buy the dirt and pile it up.  I had visions of rain washing dirt down our driveway for years to come, like money cast upon running waters, slowly floating away. 

But the dirt floating away vision made me think of the scripture, which says cast your bread upon the waters, and after many days it will return to you.

vs 1  Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days. From the classic 11th Chapter of Ecclesiastes, which also speaks of planting seed:

vs.6  In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good.

As I thought of that verse, I realized that sometimes we must risk practical things for yield. It seems to make no sense to throw bread on water and expect if it's carried downstream that you will own it once more, after a time. What value? I had pondered that verse before, and I knew it meant to place your trust for sustenance upon the Lord, who was paralleled symbolically by water.  Water being the life's blood of all life, even in the eyes of the earliest primitive men, long before Ecclesiastes.  Water also symbolized power, and life cycles, the simple needs of life, and an ever-moving entitiy, able to be present in 3 forms. So God dealt with my heart. Maybe it was not frivolous to cast money into this endeavor, risking it on something as practical as dirt, if planting into it could provide a yield. And even if I didn't know exactly how good the yield, or the kind of yield, it seemed that dirt would be good for years to come.  A foundation for many more gardens over the years. A preparation for a good future garden.

I suddenly saw God's plan differently.  And understood these verses in a way I never would have otherwise.  But I never even came close to imagining the Summer story that was about to unfold, because of a whole lot of dirt!  I could write a book on  what happened in my garden this year,  and I just might. Starting with this chapter of how I got feed troughs for my birthday and soon was contemplating investing in Dirt.

I am so blessed to have lived the story. I praise God for one glorious summer and a dream to build a garden.  Thank you precious Lord.

Praying with Ryder in the Garden

I finally have a reasonable start to a real garden, full of things with little groupings of containers, and arches with vining veggies, and places to sit when I am tired.  Some of my beds are raised so I don't have to bend over, and some are on wheels so I don't have to struggle to move them.  Some are containers with handles so they are easy to carry, and some are on tables so they are easy to reach. Some are hanging baskets, and some planters are quite large.

One of the places that we have to sit is from pieces of felled trees, where the bark has fallen off. They are lying on their sides and the flattest side is up and smooth, so my grandson and I can sit facing one another. The two perches are across the path from one another, and on a good level for talking.  So one day we were talking and I told Ryder of how Jesus liked to pray in a garden of Olive Trees, and he sometimes took his disciples there.  Then I told him how I sometimes liked to pause and pray as I thought of things, and always to be thankful for how beautiful a garden and growing things could be.

I asked him would he like to pray in my garden and he did, so we prayed for friends and loved ones and thanked Jesus for things.  It was a special moment for me. I hope it will be a memory for him, and the first of many times we share prayer there. 

One thing is for certain. His little stuffed rabbit friend who visits with his statue buddies while we work will also be joining us in prayer.  His rabbit is named Carrots, and Carrots goes on many adventures.  And my grandson is giving Carrots a wonderful, storyful life. And we must make sure he learns how to pray. LOL

Blessings to anyone who is working a garden this year in the heat. And may it prosper in spite of  the dry weather this year.  And may you find time to pray a bit in your garden, and remember that Christ prayed for you there in his place. 

God Grant this request for all who have given a garden their time this year.  Please bring nourishment in what ever form their garden has grown, whether flowers or food, may it nourish the soul and the body. In Jesus sweet name, AMEN

The Song That Plays in My Mind

I have called my blog A Garden Called Gethsemane, 1. because Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and 2. because of the song I am about to post.  There were no roses in the Garden of Gethsemane, I suppose.  In fact, as a garden of Olive trees it must have had some special significance for Jesus that went beyond my understanding.  Sometimes, I think about it.

I know it's significance in being the one source for usable oils that could be consumed and or burned, mirrors attributes of the Holy Spirit. That alone makes the whole garden worth contemplating it's value for Jesus.  I think he wanted his followers to realize that once he was gone, his spirit would never be.  I also believe there is a lot to be said about the fact the Garden still stands today, with it's ancient olive trees, or their replacements.  There remains life, beauty, fruit, history, purpose, and prayer...etc. I could go on-- all which emulate the wonders of the Holy Spirit.  All which give me a sense of peace.  It's longevity should by now at least give us a sense of his promise to never leave us. 

The main thing about the song, however that stands out in my mind, is the word "alone."  Alone, when I think of this garden, and of prayer, never means lonely. It means "me and God!"  WOW, can I say that again----WOW!  Me....and GOD. Alone together.  That never ceases to give me exhilaration, hope, joy, peace. A sense of forever, a sense of perfection and wholeness - not as if I was perfect in my own mind or anyone else's. But because of Christ's work...I am perfectly OK in God's eyes.  His creation, His well loved child. There is no judgment in the garden... Again I could go on.

 Where the Lord meets me, the place is like my own garden, full of a sense of expected future yields. Flowers or veggies or simply as a hiding place for all kinds of life, it never leaves me empty.  I love to have my camera in my gardens, at some point, to capture bits of the moment when evidence of its life and change occur. Because they are fleeting moments, and full of change and seasons.  Like life, they scream to me that these processes are straight out of infinity and in the ever-present NOW at the same time.  The very air screams "you are never alone!" No wonder, my favorite way to meet with God is alone.

So, the phrases of this song play in my mind when I think of prayer and a place to pray.  In my present back yard, I am trying to make places to pause, and hopefully experience those moments with God through the power of his Holy Spirit.  Moments for prayer, to meditate upon him and his creation, to be thankful for all it symbolizes, and for its gifts.  Food and beauty, a reason to live and a sense of purpose. 

"And He walks with me ...and He talks with me..."  Well, let the song speak for itself:

IN THE GARDEN,  by Charles Austin Miles  ~  1912  ~

"AND HE TELLS ME I AM HIS OWN."

Once, 100 years ago, Charles Austin Miles experienced the same blessings from a garden as me. That makes us of one mind, even though he no longer lives.  And there have certainly been thousands of others who have also found themselves ensconced in this precious place with our creator God, and the Spirit that indwells us.  A song like this collects us all into a oneness with God and each other. Something songs are particularly good at doing. Something that also surpasses time and elevates us to a spiritual plane of sorts, and once again dispels any possibility of aloneness meaning being without kindred spirits who know or knew exactly how my heart feels. 

May God be praised, because it is his purpose for providing this encounter. He only desires our Praise as pay. LOL As if we could praise him to within anything near the "pay" he is due.  Loving the garden once more.

Praise God from whom all blessing flow!
Cynthia

Tears Of Joy - from a 5 year old heart

 Anyone who knows me probably knows I am an artsy creature. It's how God made me.  As a child I loved being an artsy creature. It made the world more magical. But it allowed that I could expand on the world I knew by delving into my imagination to create something.
 Oddly, it is also part of why I believed in God, even as a child and especially as an adult.  The Spirit of God has dealt with my heart and mind for all of my life.  And since God is a creator, I felt a kindred spirit.  I always knew that drawing and designing were a gift from him, as well as many of the supplies that I used in my earliest play.

I can play for hours in my Gimp program, with no purpose at all in mind.  Having a purpose for my design makes doing it more difficult than fun.  But for God, I have always thought it must be just the opposite.  I truly believe God must have gotten a lot of fun out of putting his Great design into place and watching his vision grow.  I can, therefore, understand, when we humans decide to not worship him, or even acknowledge him, that he is saddened.

My art is sometimes a means of lifting my own spirits.  Many people I know have issues with the melancholies an artist encounters. They have no tolerance for my tears.  They truly don't understand  why I can't be jolly all the time.  I have heard through out my life the question - "Why are you so serious?" For me, reality is serious, all the laughter and jolliness are forms of denial, and a way of not facing reality.  Life is hard and I just can't laugh it off.  I want solutions, not an ability to put off dealing with reality.  And if it were just me and God, I could go on living life that way.  It's the denial people that make my life hard...LOL. I can laugh about that, you see.

Something I found out, especially as a young woman working in churches, was that my tears were often misread.  I had a pastor once come to me and tell me I could lay it all at the altar, when actually, my tears were evidence of feeling an incredible joy for someone who was saved that morning.  I always believed even angels must be moved to tears, when someone is born again.

Not all tears are about sadness.  I used to cry often. And most of the time, my tears wear tears of joy.  I could be moved at the slightest bit of beauty and it would bring me to tears.  I was full to over-flowing with intense and wonderful emotion.  And people around me would either be wanting to console me, or make me stop crying by shaming me, or cracking jokes.  Why would they take that ecstasy away from me? I never understood.

But as life would have it, I married a man who would eventually do away with my joyful tears.  He was constantly determined to make me smile instead. The result for me has been having health issues, including depressions as a result.  I firmly believe, as well, that many of my physical issues are because I don't have that connection to my world I once had, that which gave me those extremes of joy I once experienced, in child-like freedom. To be who God made me to be.  I  was connected to God in a special way in those times.  I always felt as if he was very near, experiencing that joy along side me. Just because I loved his creation or his work in someone's life, soooo much I cried.

Now that I am older, I have realized - I must be who God created me to be!  AND, I am more vocal, and adamant in my pursuits of being who God created me to be. Tears and Crafty person..all.


I draw more again. I take in the beautiful, to the extent that I sometimes annoy the people around me with my love of the smallest of things. And I leave myself exposed to a lot of criticism.  I still don't cry when the sun sets with a myriad of hues, but I often do when someone is born again. Can't everyone feel the enormity of the God of the universe- bigger than the universe- finding a home in the heart of we who are so small?  Isn't that the most incredible thing? Worth tears - Tears of Joy?

This Christmas, my grandson had two balsa wood craft projects, chosen from lots of sets of kits at our local craft store.  They were nutcrackers, one of his favorite decorations this year.  There is a whole story behind that developing of course.  But to be simple, they arouse in him emotion, for which, from being a boy, his has already been heavily reprimanded for sharing.  So he holds it in inside, to the extent that he even can be heard saying to himself, "I am not going to cry."

Being who I am, I hurt for him.  I worry what effect it will have on his health as well.  But a genuine outward indication of how much he is feeling it, was reflected when he colored his balsa nutcracker crafts.  After meticulously drawing and coloring their uniforms, he drew tiny jagged lines to make the hair and beards look more real, and then from their eyes he drew tears.  I wondered, "had he seen some with tears?," but didn't question. But he asked, "Nana, do you know why they have tears?" as if he read my mind.  As I shook my head "no", he said,

"They are Tears of Joy!  Because they are so happy it's Christmas. "

And to that, I almost cried..."Lord, may he always have Tears of Joy. Please...continue to give him ways to express his ecstasies without reproval."

 I now pray- "may I continue to value my own gift to draw and paint and design my feelings...even my tears of joy. And thank you for this outlet, especially when its for tears of sadness. And especially when the art helps our sadness.  And help us share our Joy, even when we are misunderstood. If not through our tears, then maybe through a more universal expression, our creativity." AMEN

Sunflowers to heal the pain of loss

GONE

Since the tree fell, (in my last post,) the whole landscape of our backyard has changed.  The power company came in and felled several more. To make a long story short, it has been traumatic to us and to our flower gardens. And I have to totally rethink my gardens. but we have made use of the ground up tree limbs to make needed pathways, and having a path is a good first step for any major change in life.
Yesterday was also my 64th birthday.  Also a major change point to my future.  I am trying to put them both into perspective, and I just realized how important it will be to not expect my yard to come into it's own again overnight, much as I would hope to not live the remainder of my life in a few days.  Or even plan it out actually.

From today, I commit myself to begin again, with a new perspective.  To genuinely make my garden be a place of prayer, and my life a place of purpose.

Although the former garden is gone, Sunflowers have come up as volunteers out there.  God's way of making me smile.  No more shade, so make room for the sunny flowers.  I can smile.