TO YOU, DEAR FELLOW TENDERS OF THE TENDER:

I’ve spent decades talking to God while planting, pruning, and weeding. Hence my recent garden blues with a slow-burn ache.

Time is an issue. I’m surrendering half my personal Eden.

Y.e.s. and . . .

In the lull between two bites
of the spade, I strip away
starry carpets of sedum

and budding thyme — mounded
plantings knelt over
for decades. Next,

yank the barrier fabric
weighted with bark chips
gone rogue, riddled 

solid with roots — tendrilled,
or stout as parsnips. Hard to uproot
dew-loving borders in bloom,

aromatic lavender, pungent sage.
Out with those aspen saplings,
summer’s taffeta rustle

silenced. Mercy keeps nudging:
Stay simple to go deep.
Bless the bed, graveled over.

***

STILL, I GROUSE, as if hardships aren’t known for cultivating wisdom, each hard pruning gradually boosting resilience, setting hearts free.

Imagine Mary’s “y.e.s.” to Gabriel. She must:

Yield . . . to impossibility
Embody . . . scandal
Stretch . . . in ways she cannot foresee

My version?

Yelp . . . Practical, sure, but wow, it hurts
Erupt . . . I’m too old for hard labor
Self-soothe . . . I deserve a massage, a nap, more chocolate

Not exactly Mary’s “Be it unto me according to your word.”

Can this honest,
half-grudging heart chuckle,
shrug,
nudge closer to God?

“We must pray not first of all because it feels good or helps, but because God loves us and wants our attention.” So says James E. Miller in The Art of the Healing Presence.

MAYBE START WITH A WHISPERED VALENTINE: Lord, I love you.

No agenda, no hidden motives. No bargaining.

Yes . . . to being, breathing, listening.

In The Road to Daybreak, an intimate diary of writer Henri Nouwen, readers see him prayerfully poised to forsake his cherished academic career for caregiving. He’s scared. Resistant. Sad. How to go the distance?

FOUR WORDS, spoken by a fellow priest, inspire him. Be faithful in adoration.

Prayer, itself, heals us, Nouwen adds. “Not just the answer to prayer.”

Yes, it’s hard to embrace change. Long-tended plants give way to gravel. Shared interests with a beloved alter; in some cases, cease.

As we more deeply believe that perfect Love is directing a vital reconfiguration, might simple acts of kindness unfurl more gracefully? Foreshadow, perhaps, a more generous, inner transfiguration?

Jesus said, For I was hungry . . . thirsty . . . sick . . . a stranger.

Over time, people we love can seem like strangers.

And the Savior still says, “I tell you the truth, whatever you do for one of the least of these brothers [and sisters] of mine, you do for me.”

Will we emulate Mary: open, questioning yet faithful, in adoration? What about the woman in Mark 14 — the one who poured out what wealth she had to anoint the Savior for burial?

Jesus said of her, “She did what she could when she could.”

Yearn. Engage. Serve.

Y.E.S. Oh, yes.

Friends, what turns your eyes back to God?

Here’s a past photo essay you might enjoy: “Natural . . . infinite . . . yes” 

Photo by Kyle Hinkson on Unsplash