In Which I Tackle The Hedges & The House...

A few years ago, on a weekend when my family was out of town, my Dad surprised us with an astonishing gift. He drove down from Lexington, truck bed full of stones and rocks and landscaping cloth. Unbeknownst to us, he created lovely gardens stemming out from our patio. Flat, rectangular shaped stones form a serpentine border that leads from the back corner edge of the house to one edge of the patio, and then from the opposite edge of the patio to the other corresponding edge of the house. A layer of landscape cloth slows the growth of grass and weeds. Different colored rocks – lava rock, pebbles, white quartz-y gravel, round black stones, creek rock – adorn the gardens in patterns. The garden is pieced together rather like a stained glass window, but in a loose mosaic of color and texture. And it is stunning. The work of a master landscape designer.
What makes this particular garden extra special, in a “perfect for me” kind of way, is the fact I cannot possibly destroy the contents. Unfortunately, I did not inherit my father’s green thumb. To his dismay and bewilderment, I have more of a “black thumb of death” when it comes to plants. (Let’s just say, if I had a dime for every time someone whispered under their breath: “But I didn’t even think it was POSSIBLE to kill – insert name of plant said person is staring at in disbelief, shriveled and brown and crispy” then I would be a wealthy woman).
While the botanical gardens surrounding my parents’ house have been aptly described as ‘The Eighth Wonder of The World’, plants under my care wither and die. Nevertheless, the rock garden was particularly touching as the rocks are indestructible. And therefore, completely safe in the hands of a black thumb gardener, like myself. Daddy created the masterpiece, and entrusted me with maintenance. I can do that.
You see, despite the landscape cloth, there are indefatigable (which is really the only appropriate description…and a word I love to say three times fast) weeds, grasses and ground covers that take root -on top of the cloth- and weave among the stones. In the blink of an eye, the mosaic masterpiece is hidden by unruly leaves and vines.
Today was a self-proclaimed “rock garden maintenance” day. I donned my dollar store gloves, a hand-held three pronged rake thing-y (I believe that’s the technical agricultural term), grabbed a thermos of water and headed out to the jungle. The fact that it was a billion degrees outside just prodded me to increase my weeding efficiency.
I pulled weeds, both full grown and merely sprouting. I tackled ants, several types of beetles, a fledgling yellow jacket’s nest (Ewwwwwwww…), spiders of several sizes. I dug under stones to make sure roots were destroyed. I sweated, and grunted, and gripped, and pushed until the metal end of my three pronged rake-y thing broke in two. (I’m telling you, INDEFATIGABLE weeds…) I believe I frightened my daughters when I burst through the door and collapsed into a chair while sweat gathered in a pool at my feet. “W…a…t…e…r,” I gasped and held out my empty thermos. The Bug and the Pea flew to the rescue and then followed me outside to help. They gathered up the piles of leaves, grasses, weeds, and bound them up in giant garbage bags.
Next I tackled the hedges. Quite literally. Me, garden gloves, electric hedge clippers. In front of our porch is a small garden, a few holly bushes, a lilac bush, an evergreen, some burning bushes, fountains of monkey grass. (“Mama,” asks the Bug, “Is it OK if I cut back these monkeys?”) Quite recently this little plot of space beside the sidewalk up to our porch steps has morphed into a bit of a jungle. (Fine, fine, it’s been that way for awhile, there’s no ‘quite recently’ about it…) My husband quite dutifully mowed the lawn. So the grass is well manicured, but the hedges are taking over.
Why? You are undoubtedly asking. What could possibly possess a person to do hours of yard work on a blisteringly hot Kentucky day in the middle of the summer? Is she crazy? Does she not realize the pool is open? Well, there is a method to my madness, I must say. You see, my father and mother are coming here to visit. I know they are, because the visit is another of my parents’ gifts to me. They are coming to take care of my family so I may head to a writer’s workshop.
Now I know it would not matter to my parents if they had to scythe a trail through the messiness that is generally my den. But first on my list was a thorough house cleaning. For those of you who know my mother, you realize her home is the warmest, most inviting home you’ve ever seen. You want to curl up on a window seat with a book and a blanket and a cup of hot tea and stay forever. The pantry is overflowing, as are the bookshelves, and everything is neat and tidy. But not in a museum, ‘don’t touch!’ kind of way. In a “I thought you might be in the mood to watercolor, so I went ahead and got some supplies and put them in a storage box with some fresh sketch paper. Here, have a homemade chocolate chip cookie while you paint…”
She could care less if the pantry is stocked, or the clothes already washed when she arrives. Dad, as I’ve mentioned, is well aware of my (how shall we say?) lack of landscaping genius. Even though they wouldn’t mind a bit if I leave the place in shambles on my rush out the door, I want everything to be ready. As a matter of respect, and honor, I want them to stay in a clean house, with a presentable yard, with food in the pantry. I want the kids’ clothes to be washed and laid out for school so that Mom and Dad can enjoy their return visit.
Dad would not think twice about setting down his suitcase and then immediately mowing the lawn, if that’s what I needed. Mom would set down her bags and run to the grocery to fill my refrigerator with fresh fruits and vegetables. They are continually in the mode of servanthood with love. It wouldn’t matter to them if the home was NOT ready for their return. However, it matters to me. It matters to me that when Daddy arrives, the yard is mowed and the hedges trimmed. It matters to me that the house is spotless, sheets washed, fresh towels laid out. It matters to me that the rock garden is weeded. If the garden were not properly taken care of, then it would appear that I had rejected the gift. That I didn’t care enough to maintain the masterpiece, to continue the good work, whether or not he was right there over my shoulder.
A neighbor and friend from college noticed my fierce garage cleaning out activity after dark the other night as she was driving by. She rolled down her window and commented jokingly: “So, I’m guessing your Dad is coming for a visit? Wouldn’t it be easier if you were always ready? Instead of this gung-ho craziness right before the arrival?”
And the parallel hit me like a ton of bricks. She’s absolutely right. I should ALWAYS be in a state of readiness. Not only for my earthly father, but my Heavenly Father for the return of Jesus. I know when my parents are arriving, I know how much time I have to prepare. But I do NOT know when Jesus will return, so the thought of His return must constantly be on my mind.
“Watch therefore, for you do not know what hour your Lord is coming. But know this, that if the master of the house had known what hour the thief would come, he would have watched and not allowed his house to be broken into. Therefore you also be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect. “ Matthew 24:44I must continue always in my service – my servanthood in love -
“Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.” 1 Corinthians 15:58So that I will be ready to meet Christ at any moment: “Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming.” Matthew 25:13As has become the recent norm, my spiritual epiphanies have come as I scrub the shower floor with a toothbrush. And it may sound crazy, but I look forward to the work because when I am quiet, and it is just me listening as I scrub, my mind begins to make connections not easily made when chauffeuring the kids to and from activities. So I am quite content to know that a day of straightening is ahead of me. Because this will be a day when God speaks to me again, as I get ready, for the return….