Peace & The Garden

Sunday mornings are not necessarily a peaceful time in my house.  When I started watching The Walking Dead with my husband a few years ago, there was a tender moment between the main character, Rick, and his son Carl.  In talking about their pre-apocalypse life, Rick remembers that his wife Lori, Carl's mom, always made pancakes on Sunday mornings.  These pancakes were notoriously awful, but she continued to make them because that was the kind of family she wanted to be.  The scene is endearing, but I remember thinking "Who has time to make pancakes on Sunday morning?"

I certainly don't.  On Sundays I find myself praying the coffee is strong and hot.  I attempt to gulp it down before I walk out the door so I can brush my teeth as to not offend anyone at church with coffee breath.  Almost every week either my oldest son or I are checking if we have the appropriate laptop, his for announcements and music slides or mine to teach children's church.  There is usually an odd item or two that needs to be taken to church.  Today it is supplies for the Easter, clean nursery sheets, and materials for children's church.  Then you add in all the chaos of "did you eat?" and "did you shower?" and "are you wearing that?" and Sundays take on a life of their own.

I sat down this morning at my dining room table with coffee in a Superman mug - my Batman mug is dirty - and looked outside at my garden.  I use the word "garden" loosely.  There are definitely things growing in my backyard, but they don't have the intentionality or, if I'm painfully honest, success that a garden should have.  And yet there is something about calling it a garden that I enjoy.  It tells the story of what I want my backyard to be.  I want it to be a place where we grow food, have more grass than weeds, certainly no weeds that reach up to my knees, and no pile of dead greenery that I cut a week ago.  No cracked concrete.  No gopher holes, though these have been entertaining for my husband and sons and dog.

This morning I sat down at my dining room table and saw past all that.  I saw what could be there: thick grass, neat edges, persimmons by the bunch, a clean patio with a table we could gather around, and maybe even a barbeque and some string lights.

I hope that when God looks at me He sees a garden.  I hope he sees past my weeds and shortcomings, and instead sees my potential.  I hope He sees the gallons of sweet lemonade I'm capable of supplying instead of the bitter fruit that is ripe for picking.