A Gardener’s Religion

Last updated on: October 12, 2019 at 8:53 am by Christie Purifoy

A Gardener’s Religion 2019-10-12T08:53:24-04:00 Christie Purifoy

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Is God in the clouds? Somewhere up above the clouds?

Most of us live as if this were the case.

Where is God? Out there, somewhere. Ignoring us. Oblivious of us. Angry at us. Disappointed with us. Take your pick.

Those brave enough or foolish enough to seek God look for him in debates and dogmas. They hunt amongst ideas, issues, headlines.

Sometimes I go that way, too, but it is difficult for a gardener to keep her head in the clouds.

The demands of the soil are so insistent, the allure of the flowers so hard to resist.

God, if you are in the clouds, if you are somewhere up above the clouds, I am coming, I promise I am, but there are roses to cut–November is fast approaching and how much longer will I have roses in the garden?–and I bought more bulbs at the garden shop–I couldn’t resist–and now I must find pots for them. The trees we planted in spring need water at least until the first hard frost, and I told myself that this year I wouldn’t forget to clean up the dying peony foliage, not to mention keep the dahlias deadheaded until the cold sets in.

Lord, there is a furry bee sleeping in a pink dahlia flower. Who knew that bees put themselves to bed, tucked up between pink petals?

You knew I suppose. And now I know.

Though what kind of bee this is I cannot say. And what will he do when the dahlias are stricken with frost?

Perhaps I should find out. Perhaps there is a book to tell me, or maybe I will just stay here in the garden and keep watch, very closely, for the moment when the autumn bee disappears and the first snowflake falls.

God, if you are in the clouds, if you are somewhere up above the clouds, come to me, come near to me when the snowflakes fall.

I am distracted, I am enchanted, I am snared by this world of your making, this world of my keeping,

this world far below the clouds where I belong.

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