O Mio Babbino Caro

Dad had flowers growing on all four sides of our house. The shady side which got little sun had a deep layer of lily of the valley, their rich green leaves punctuated with tiny white blossoms. And the aroma! You didn’t even have to bend down to enjoy their perfume: the scent rose up to meet anyone passing by. On the barely shaded, full-sun side of the house, hollyhock stems grew as high as the eaves, the pink flowers tipping to look down at us.

In the front was a raised bed garden filled with hens and chicks and annuals such as petunias and pansies. But in the back was the real treasure. A white trellis fence crossed over the front of a large stone path garden. Roses of all types and colors grew in the front beds, a climbing rose vining up and over the arched opening. The walk went straight, then branched to both sides, creating individual beds, each with a different “theme” – irises, gladiolas, impatiens of all colors. In the middle of the garden, the path made a circle around tall shasta daisies surrounding a bird bath.

We had a fenced-in pool which also sported blooming plants around it – a large, thick bank of rose bushes – the type that aren’t particularly pretty but even more aromatic than most roses. The blanket of pink blooms perfumed the air. On the other side, delicate morning glory vines wound their way up the fence, their blooms opening wide to greet the early sun, then closing throughout the day in protective rest.

When Dad got home from a job which he was very good at and never complained about, but I realized later was a choice he made solely to provide for his family and keep them in one place, he would park the clunky blue work van in the turn-around of the driveway (also bordered by flowers), and begin his slow trek around the yard. I would have met him coming in, so I would take his tin lunch box into the house while he began his walk. I seldom joined him. It seemed private. The battle of the day was over – it was time to enjoy his creation.

He would make his way around each section – touching the plants, deadheading a few blooms, yanking out a suddenly tall weed, untangling a vine and guiding it to a better spot on a trellis. I knew he was planning what he would do that evening after supper while the sun stayed up longer during our Michigan summer. But he was mostly admiring God’s handiwork. And his. Taking pleasure in the creation, enjoying its beauty and its company. 

That’s kind of how I see God growing us in His garden. There is somebody blooming everywhere – each person uniquely suited to where God has placed them. He plants us, tends us, feeds us, nurtures us, enjoys us, weeds us, and takes pleasure in our beauty and our company. 

So while my Dad was enjoying the walk around the beauty he had created, God walked with him, enjoying the beauty of this one HE had created.

And today they met to walk together again, but this time the meeting was face-to-face. The battle is over, it’s time to enjoy His creation. God has gained a master gardener and I love the picture of them, side-by-side, walking heavenly gardens, pointing and talking.

I’ll miss my gardener, but I’ll see him again. And when I do, I believe this time I’ll tag along on that walk. 

Glen A. Watson

1928-2022

The steps of a man are established by the Lord,

And He delights in his way.

Psalm 37:23