Any doubts I had about the house we just moved into were put to some kind of rest when I realized that not only was our house sale finalized, unwittingly, on the feast of St. Joseph, but our moving date was on the feast of St. Joseph the Worker. Sound superstitious? Well, not if you’ve spent the past year asking for St. Joseph’s intercession specifically for the sale of your home and the finding of a new one.
One of my doubts centred on our moving to Chilliwack. It’s further east than we were planning – an idea that would be entertained only if the property came with acreage, which this house did not. But it really is hard to deny that this house was providentially given to us.
There are really too many things to mention. But, for one, we’re across the street from the Hope River. “Flood!” is the word of many concerned commentators, but “joy” is our reply. The boys took out our canoe on Day 1 and quickly became best friends with the river. Madalen’s search for a kayak begins.
Honeybees are legal here, which may not be practical at this moment for us, but I have long dreamed of keeping a small brood of bees.
I have reports that the little backyard pond has a resident toad, now named Alexander II. (Regular readers may remember an old column about the lethal and final adventure of our pet frog Alexander I.) Some may cringe at the thought of a backyard toad, but to me Alexander is nothing more than a sign that God knows my heart. I’ve yet to introduce myself to Alexander. He seems shy.
But the one thing most people comment on is the garden. Or should I say “gardens,” for the soil seems unending. When we arrived on moving day, before I walked through the house I ran to the backyard to see what was alive and waiting for me. We had seen the yard only in dormant season. I knew there would be many surprises.
The couple who lived here spent twenty-something years planting, landscaping, and composting. Each morning I walk out there and see what has bloomed miraculously overnight. I’ve found roses, wisteria, clematis, herbs, garlic (another long put-off dream), chard, chives, rhubarb, bleeding hearts, lavender … These are just the few that I can name. In these times of isolation I pray that I can find an app that works in identifying flowers and leaves.
We are now discerning the right place for the statue of Mary that Scott and I found at Winners for $12. (Apparently garden statues of Our Lady count for Christmas clearance.) Anyhow, I think the foot of the little fountain spring is fitting.
I am mostly in awe at the beauty of God’s creation, but I also have a holy kind of terror that I will simply kill every living thing before the summer is out. “Oh, please, dear God, don’t let me kill every living thing before the summer is out,” was the first prayer I uttered as we took possession.
I feel that these flowers are a holy trust, and I have no idea what to fertilize, what to cover in winter, what to prune, what to pull. When we moved to Mission, all gardening skills got put on hold, and gathering apples and spinach was the limit.
But when I uttered that prayer, I realized that I had prayed it before. Actually, I’ve prayed it many times, but regarding my children. Sometimes I look at them and think about the graces, the very life of God, they received at baptism, the Holy Spirit’s gifts that were planted and started blooming in beauty and sanctity.
When I see little weeds popping up, weeds that look amazingly similar to the ones I have failed to pull from my own soul, and that have now apparently spread like dandelion seeds into the garden of their souls, that same holy terror comes over me. “Dear God, let not one of these little chicks fall from the nest of your hands” is my desperate and usual prayer. I suppose I’m mixing my metaphors with that prayer, garden versus nest. Ah, well. Every beautiful garden has birds, which ours does. For now, anyway.
If a parent realizes the gravity of their charge, they are off to a start – good soil, so to speak. Obviously, the seeds and water begin with baptism and continue with the other sacraments, God’s very flesh being the fertilizer. But God has enlisted parents to sculpt and maintain that garden, to pull the weeds, gently, and to add compost regularly. He allows us to add new flowers, new food, to tend and help grow. The scent will waft into the hearts of passersby.
May is the month of Our Lady, and it is a tradition to crown a statue with flowers, or to plant some of the numerous ones named in her honour. Perhaps this month is a good time to pull some weeds, fertilize some soil, and offer a beautiful bouquet to our heavenly Father, and his holy Mother.
For as the soil makes the sprout come up and a garden causes seed to grow, so the Sovereign Lord will make righteousness and praise spring up before all nations (Is 61:11).
