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Welcome to my garden of gratitude. Thanks for coming. This is the first post, so there aren’t many flowers to find yet; but I assure you there is a notebook full of seeds that I have planted and very soon these pages will bloom with blog posts. I have no doubt that when these songs poke their pedals above the soil, they will demonstrate that my gardening needs some practice before the bouquets are suitable for the grocery store. But I am impatient. So before I am ready to “go and sell”, this is my invitation to you to, “come and see”.
My “song seeds” which I have planted, were all gifted to me in one of two forms: either words that were once written, or words that were once walked out. The authors of the words written span a spectrum from Johnny Cash to Charles Spurgeon. Some of the authors are still here and walking, but most have been planted in a garden of a very different sort. The seeds I gained from words walked out, the real-life words which I have lived, felt, seen, tasted, smelled etc. came mostly from my childhood on a forty-acre lot in Alberta, a few from a Texas college town and others from various farms, fields and festival stages in between. I didn’t do the best job of keeping these seeds sorted as they simmered in the background of my brain, so there’s truly no telling what will grow. When these rows bloom with blog posts they may seem cacophonous with one another, but there is one theme that unifies all of it: I don’t deserve any of it. Which is why I feel such a deep need to do something with it.
I don’t deserve any of the books I have read, the songs I’ve heard, or the experiences which have made up my memories. I don’t even deserve the brain or the heart which houses it all. This world, and our existence in it, is an unmerited gift. I do not feel at home in my body because it is earthly, but not because it is earthy. While it is far from the future glory I know I will assume, it is also much closer to glory than I feel I presently deserve. My breath, as it subconsciously gives me life, obeys God more closely than my tongue which I have, at times, misused for the cause of death. With every heartbeat, I am given grace.
But me feeling guilty for this gift of life given to me doesn’t cancel my debt: grace does that. Furthermore, his saving grace didn’t place me on this planet to shuffle my feet with piety while I hope to keep myself holy enough for a heavenly eternity of harps and hammocks. Jesus didn’t die to merely save me from death, though he certainly did that, but he died to give me life and a ministry of reconciliation which, according to Colossians 1, includes all things in heaven and on earth. Surely souls are the most precious piece, but all molecules are a part of the picture. As Abraham Kuyper stated: “There’s not a square inch in the whole domain of human existence over which Christ, who is Lord over all, does not exclaim, ‘Mine’!”
When God made the garden, it was very good, but it wasn’t done. (Gen. 1:18) Our task has always been to take what he has given to us and cultivate it in such a way which renders him obedience and brings him glory. We are to be faithful and fruitful gardeners. What exactly he will do with that garden when the sky swallows the sea and our new heavenly home comes down I don’t know, but do I need to? I don’t care what he does with my work in the end, but I do care how he thinks of it. And this much I know, he can’t think well of my works if I have no works for him to think of.
So here I find myself with a God who loves me, a life within me and a whole world of work to be done in front of me. Although is it work or is it play? Joy makes it hard to tell. More practically, I have at my feet some assorted pieces of an associate’s degree in music, a hunger for history and a mind that won’t stop moving. It seems to me that my current act of cultivation ought to be that of marrying melodies to words. It will be clumsy and I’m sure that someday I will look back and laugh at how I am currently digging with the handle of my shovel. Furthermore I may (or probably will) accidentally plant some poison ivy. I do not desire for my horticulture to be a horror; therefore I will warmly regard any warnings you feel fit to share. But I will not accept responsibility for any rashes received, after all, this is private property.
With that being said, come and enjoy what will be an arboretum of Alberta wildflowers, welding shops, rodeos, colt 45s, Township roads, big blue chevy trucks, Guy Clark, Charles Spurgeon, electric guitars, fiddles, banjos, hymn singing, soccer games, sibling rivalries, camp fires, folk dancing, C.S. Lewis, philosophy, sunsets, sunrises and any other created object or experience that is undeserved which I manage to capture and plant using my melodies and words in order to grow a garden of gratitude.
The Garden ~ Lyrics
I’ve got a garden, that I didn’t build
But I get to watch over, all of the pretty things that it is filled with
And I try to help all the good things thrive
How I love watching many things become brand new
And I don’t ever wonder why I’m here, cause there’s always work to do
And it makes lovely, so lovely to be alive
There’ll be seasons of sun and storm that wash my seeds away
But seeing trees in all their beauty is worth the work
There'll come days of dark and drought, but I sing come what may
I’ll stand my ground with my hands down in the dirt, and tend the garden
There was a time when, I tore apart the flowers
When I realized what I had done I sat and cried for hours
Never dreamin’ there was any hope for me
Then the king of gardeners came down from his throne
Gave me a heart, a sword and a shovel and he made me his own
Some say I’m bound yet, I’ve never felt so free
There’ll be seasons of sun and storm that wash the seeds away
But seeing the trees in all their beauty is worth the work
There’ll be days of dark and drought, but I sing come what may
I’ll stand my ground with my hands down in the dirt, and tend the garden
I’ll tend my garden
Some don’t like the way I’ve kept the garden, but if you want to understand
You can judge my head and my heart by the fruits of my hand
There’ll be seasons of sun and storm that wash the seeds away
But seeing the trees in all their beauty is worth the work
There’ll come days of dark and drought, but I'll sing come what may
I’ll stand my ground with my hands down in the dirt, and tend the garden
I’ll tend the garden
I work everyday like the garden is on loan
Waiting for the lovely day when the gardener comes home
Suggested Seeds
Boot, J. (2021, August 4). The Constant Gardener. Ezra Institute. November 27, 2024, https://www.ezrainstitute.com/the-constant-gardener/
Rigney, J. Strangely bright: Can you love god and enjoy this world? Crossway. (2020)
Wilson, N. D. Notes from the Tilt-a-whirl: Wide-eyed wonder in god’s spoken world. Canon Press. (2017)
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