“Is it the morning, Mommy? Is the garden prettiest in the morning?”
My eyes rested on the mixture of blossoms before me, many with their petals starting to unfold & open at the morning sun. The rays of early sunbeams illumined the dew drops still clinging to the vibrantly colored petals, giving a shimmering diamond effect.
The early-birds provided their own surround-sound of chorus to heighten the morning’s beauty, and I thought truly, perhaps morning is when the garden is the prettiest!
A small hand tugging at mine interrupted my thoughts,
“Oh, mommy, or is it the afternoon? You know, just ‘fore we lay down for my nap. Is the garden the prettiest then, in the afternoon?”
We often took a quick stroll before her afternoon nap, so she knew well of the hodgepodge of dynamic activity that was in full force even amid the seeming stillness of the garden. We had often bent over to watch a ladybug crawl completely down a petunia stem, or noted the newly opened blooms of a climbing rose bush, or observed the hard at work bee intently going about his task. All this handiwork of God took place against the backdrop of spectacular color, dimension, shape & brilliant design. The gardener’s diligent toil was best seen in the full sun, and it was breathtaking to observe.
“What about it, Mommy, huh? When is the garden the prettiest? Is it in the evening? You know, when we see the moon and the sun at the same time? Is the garden prettiest then?”
At the end of the day, we’d frequently wind down our evening by putting on a sweater and strolling amid the garden’s dusk-shadowed path. Moonlight filtered though the blooms to create interesting shadows and the mysterious nature of the lighting produced a mystifying loveliness. The garden’s splendor was seen in its subtle nuances, creating a gentle yet strong magnificence all its own. Crickets chirped. The hush of footsteps on dirt was only interrupted by the occasional broken twig, and the splendor of the garden was only enhanced because of the tightness of my daughter’s grip in my hand. She was a bit uncertain in this growing darkness, even though the blooms around her were familiar friends.
My daughter’s movement and chatter finally paused as she looked up to me for an answer.
“When is the garden prettiest?, the unanswered question awaited resolution.
I started to tell her that each part of the day had unique beauties it brought to the garden, that it was impossible to judge fairly, that ‘prettiest’ was an invalid question because it was too difficult to compare what was really much easier to contrast.
“I know”, she interrupted me, “I know, I know” her excited eyes danced as she explained “ the garden is prettiest when our Daddy walks with us.”
He always makes the prettiest even more prettier.”
Each of us as women are like flowers in different times of life’s day.
Some are in their early morning stage, fresh with potential and opportunity, beauty glistening from the dew.
Some are in the afternoon of our garden’s life, missing some petals, perhaps not completely rid of the pests that threaten our well-being, feeling the force of the full sun, yet God creating a rich loveliness that comes with a flower’s maturing bloom.
Others are settling into twilight’s quiet season, the weather’s assault has done some damage, but quiet gentleness reflects an attentive gardener’s care, and loveliness is revealed not so much in intensity but in the depth and richness of the flower’s hue.
Which is prettiest?
They all have their various beauties, their opportunities, their loveliness. We ought each to embrace the one in which God has presently placed us. Don’t miss the joy of the present by looking longingly at the past, nor waste today’s opportunity by gazing lustfully at the future.
But when is the garden prettiest?
…..Well, like the little girl said,
“The garden is prettiest when our Father walks with us.”
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