My garden is growing in spite of me - the weeds and/or uppity perennials at any rate, no, at an alarming rate. We've had just enough rain to enable me to only have to haul out the hose and water the containers when their plants start to wilt. One that screams for attention is visible through my kitchen window: the lime colored sweet potato vine in my window boxes. It's kind of like that plant the boy ended up with after he traded his family's cow for some seeds. I'm loathe to trim it back as it's a testimony in part to whatever green hue my thumb might have.
Today I've informed Terri Anne that we will have to tackle some weeding and trimming projects before her birthday swim party on Saturday afternoon. She's got her own agenda which includes front and foremost our watching a DVD movie, Reckless Ralph. I haven't seen it so I'm content to spend an hour and a half doing that first.
But back to the garden, my pastor has asked us to submit writings about Creation and its various aspects. What came to me was a poem about how God pulled this off. Since it started in a garden, an ideal perfect place we never should have left I'll share it with you here.
In the Beginning. . .
The story is familiar
in whatever form we read or hear it.
Taken literally or figuratively
there's a progression that gives
it purpose; start with the basics,
do the ground work, add elements
to flesh it out like we have done
and do to this very day.
Yet we cannot create anything
from nothing, that's beyond us.
God's basic was chaos, utter disorder,
nothingness to be exact.
It took words from God
to bring it to fruition.
And later we learn it was
not just the words that God spoke
but the Word who was his son,
Jesus the Christ.
13 August 2013
by Terry Waggle