Loveliest of Trees
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And Stands about the woodland ride
wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again.
And take from seventy springs a score,
It leaves me only fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
A. E. Housman
We read this poem a few weeks ago, and it’s stuck with me, that the number of my earthly springs are finite. My grief quickly gave way to joy, remembering that I have an eternity of new spring awaiting me. The hope of gardening with Jesus brings tears to my eyes. On this side of eternity I wait until after the rainstorms to go weed the garden - the ground is softer after a storm, did you know? - and I pull the unwanted, and pile my complaints off to the side to make room for the beauty. I say I know this wasn’t your plan and what was Eden like before weeds, gardening with Jesus unseen. But then? To have him dig with me? I can hardly imagine the peace that would bring.
Garden therapy truly started for me Christmas of 2021, when John got me a copy of Cut Flower Garden from Floret. It took me less than 24 hours to decide to take over half the back yard for flowers. Little did I know that the following spring of 2022 I would spiral into an anxiety and depression worse than I had ever experienced in my life.
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