I've just been out to the greenhouse to water my little baby plants before I get ready for bed and in the space of a day a little row of seedlings have poked their heads up. Little tiny radishes and lettuces and spring onions and tomatoes and cucumbers and peppers; all the little seedlings all looking pretty much the same until they develop their second pair of leaves and identify themselves. Of course I've got everything labelled in rows, because the order appeals to me and it's the only way I can do things - some might call it a smidge neurotic - but despite me, the seeds grow all on their own, because they're little living things. Tiny little living things. From a dry, dead looking little brown pip in my hand, they turn into lush, green sprouts of new growth. Hopeful.
There was a blackbird sitting on the topmost branch of a conifer singing it's little heart out. It was in profile and I could see his beak opening and closing as he made this lovely happy sound. I checked on some plants that I bought and planted the other day and they're starting to settle in and spread out in the soil. I love it when you look carefully at new plants and it's obvious that they're going to be ok in your soil, and that they've found the new environment comfy enough to start to spread out their roots.
One of the big plants in my garden that died over the cold winter has been sitting, dead and twig-like in it's huge pot, waiting to be evicted so that I can reuse the plantpot sometime soon. Recently I noticed that right at the bottom of the stems, almost in the soil, the plant is shooting again. There are small, bright green leaves among the old woody branches that are dry and dead. It's worth planting him back out somewhere and maybe he'll make it after all. A phoenix from the ashes. A little botanical resurrection!
I've been up to see the girls asleep in bed and to see if I can have a look at the lump on Katy's neck, about which she's getting increasingly protective. She was lying on it, so I didn't manage to see it but I could touch it, and I think it's getting smaller. I'm sure it's getting smaller. Whether it'll go before the operation date I don't know, but I do know that you're looking after my little girl. She and her big sister both looked so small, so delicate, so innocent. So beautiful daughters.
Thankyou for sunny days, green grass, watering cans and seedlings. Thankyou for flowers and birds and blue sky and the sound of my girls laughing as they swing on the swing. Thankyou for this glass of wine, a picnic or a roast dinner. Thankyou for my family as we all drink coffee together in the garden on our new garden bench. Thankyou that I can speak to you now and be assured that you are hearing me. Thankyou that this morning in church I could worship you openly without fear of someone coming to arrest me or hurt me for doing it. Thankyou that I am your daughter and you love me.
I feel as if I might never stop if I start on the list of wonders that you have done and are doing in my life. Thankyou that you think I'm worthy of more work; that I might grow from a small dull-looking seed into a flower that blossoms. Thankyou that you see my potential and know how to develop it in me.
I want to sing of you like the blackbird on top of the tree, singing a beautiful song with joy and abandon.
I want to spread my roots out wide and strong like the lavender just arrived from the garden centre.
I want to send out fresh, strong new shoots each time you show me how to, no matter how devastating the winter before.
I want to rest safe and child-like in your arms tonight like my babies in their beds, secure in the knowledge that they are loved and cared for.
So much to be thankful for. Such a skilful and imaginative Creator God you are. Help me see, Lord. I don't want to miss a thing.