Gardening Is Spiritual

My father’s annual summer garden and I sprouted simultaneously over the years of my childhood. One of my summer chores was pulling weeds in the rectangular garden that grew along the side of our garage in our northern backyard. 

As an adult I have planted a garden most every place we have lived, even if it was just a few containers on a balcony.  

When our boys were young I would frequently ask them to help me in the yard or garden. Like most kids, they would comply and complain. I remember a day when my youngest son was assisting me with some weed pulling and whining endlessly. 

Determined to teach the boy that hard work is an important part of life, I finally turned to him and asked, “David, where did God put Adam after he was created?”

This child, raised in church and Sunday school since birth, knew the answer. He looked up at me, a pulled weed dangling from his hand and replied, “The Garden of Eden.”

That’s right,” I said. “And what is the first work God gave Adam to do?”

My boy gazed off into the trees behind me his brain processing, thinking, remembering and finally answered, “Take care of the garden and the animals?”

I stood up, towering above him to emphasize my next statement. “So if the first thing God did was put man in a garden and tell him to take care of it, then what we are doing right now is very spiritual work. I don’t think Adam was complaining do you?”

His eyes locked on mine and had that look, the one that lets you know the kid knows more than you do and what you just said proves it. “No Mom, but there weren’t any weeds then, Adam had it easy.”

Ouch! OK, he got me there.

After a long discourse on how weeds came to be and how that was related to whining while helping your mother, I regained my rightful place as the wiser one. He didn’t complain as much after that and as the years flew away, he grew up to enjoy gardening too.

One more confirmation for this Mom and plant lover, that gardening is indeed very spiritual.

True Face

We need to leave the house by 10:20 am to arrive at Jonathan’s day program by 11 am.  On this particular day, two and a half hours prior to our departure time,  I gave him the shaver I keep in my bathroom (it’s never charged if he’s responsible for it) and asked him to please remove several days of stubble from his face,  change his clothes and put shoes on. At 10:40 am he was standing in the garage with his clean shirt in hand instead of on his person and shoes and socks on the floor instead of on his feet, writing on an empty cardboard box. Despite frequent reminders from me, he was still moving at his usual snail pace.

I rushed through the garage on the way to the car. “We need to leave-now! We’re already very late, Jon.  You can finish getting dressed in the car on the way.”

He frowned then plodded to the car in his bare feet, tossed the shirt, shoes and socks on the floor. We were going to be late and once again I was flustered and frustrated.

During the first few miles, I attempted to calm myself by repeatedly mumbling, “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength,” mingled with random directives to Jon to change his shirt and put on his shoes. When we stopped for a traffic light, I glanced at him and realized he had shaved. Awesomeness! He got one out of three right and in the craziness that usually surrounds getting him out the door that was a small victory, one that was important to acknowledge.

“Good job shaving dude, now you need to finish getting dressed, pl-l-l-e-e-e-ase” I emphasized the word ‘please’ attempting to pressure him with a bit of urgency. The effects of reciting Philippians 4: 13 and the worship music coming from the radio station, was calming. I felt peace returning to my mind and emotions. We finally arrived at our destination with Jon fully dressed and decent for public viewing, at least I thought so. 

I parked the car and Jon began to gather his things. Since I needed to walk him around the side of the building to the front door, I got out and waited in a patch of shade at the corner. He finally removed himself from the car, shut the door and ambled toward me. As he came closer, I realized his face looked odd, as if one side was dirty. Not until he was directly in front of me, did I see that he had shaved only the left side of his face, the side visible to me while driving.

The program director came around the corner of the building just as I exclaimed, “Oh my gosh Jon, you only shaved half your face?!  Now you’re going to look like that all day!”  

The director looked from me to Jon and chuckled, unfazed. It’s certain that nothing surprises him after years of working with the developmentally disabled population. “Come on Jon,” he said, “You made it in time for lunch today, we’re having tacos. You like tacos?’’ 

He directed Jon toward the door and waved me away, a gesture that meant, ‘It’s fine Mom, you can leave now’.

”He’s all yours, “I waved back at him, “half hairy face and all.” 

As I left the parking lot, I thought about my partially shaved son, so random and such a mystery to me at times. But most of the people he was spending the afternoon with probably wouldn’t notice his partially shaved face and it obviously didn’t matter to him. He puts little importance on other people’s acceptance or expectations of him. There is no ability for pretense or façade in him. With Jon, what you see is exactly what you get.  

By the time I was a few miles down the road I realized that some of Jon’s behaviors that are most annoying at their occurrence,  often become teachable moments for my heart. This was another of those. During our drive I only saw the smooth side of Jon’s face and assumed he had completely shaved. Even though he wasn’t trying to hide that from me, my perception was still wrong. So I began to wonder--what perceptions do I have of others and portray to others?  Which side of my face do I allow to be seen? Am I true faced or fake, hiding behind a mask of insincerity?  Do I immediately construct critical judgments of others based on appearance and behavior that is outwardly visible without having all the facts or an understanding of their experiences and history?

We are experts at showing the side of ourselves we want others to see. Jesus zeroed in on this flaw of human nature and addressed it at length in Matthew 23. He was especially bothered by those who were skilled at going through the outward motions of religious regulation and tradition, putting on superficial displays that did not match the content of the heart. In verse 27 and 28, he tells the religious leaders, “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs which indeed appear beautiful outwardly, but inside are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness.  Even so you also outwardly appear righteous to men, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.’’

We might be able to fool people but we can’t hide anything from God. Man has tried since that day in the garden when God asked Adam the question, “Where are you?” It was Adam who needed to know who he had become, not God. God is not looking for perfect people but those who come to Him in humility and truth. Truth includes the ability to be honest before Him, not because He needs to know what is in us, but because we do. Being honest and open with Him about our condition sets us free to be real with others and accepting of them as well.

I picked Jon up a few hours later. We went to the library and stopped at Wendy’s for dinner. Everywhere we went people stared at his face. When it was time to leave the restaurant Jon packed up his leftover food and headed for the door but as soon as he reached it, quickly turned left and made a detour down the hallway to the men’s room. It had been a long day and I was more than ready to go home. I sighed and flopped down in the booth closest to the restrooms and opened the book I had brought along to read while I waited for him to return. 

Ten minutes later Jon came up from behind and stood completely still beside me. He slowly reached into his pocket, pulled out the shaver and handed it to me. Puzzled, I looked up at him and saw that his face was completely shaven!  

“Lord have mercy, Jon.” I took the shaver from him, “You went through this entire day with half a hairy face and you had this in your pocket the whole time? ” 

He smiled at me and his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. 

I shoved the shaver in my book bag and smiled back. “Come on True Face, let’s go home”

He gave me a perplexed look, turned to the door and headed out to the car. I followed behind, shaking my head in amazement at the puzzle that is my son, and how often he and God gang up on me to teach my heart the important stuff of life I need to know.

Food Fight

Jonathan attends an adult day program on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Since it is a forty minute drive and I’m the main source of transportation, those are the only days I can devote to getting him there, for now. After I pick him up at 3 pm, we usually make a night of it since we’re already out. I take him to the library to load up on free DVDs, to the movies, or bowling, to the Dollar Store or Wal-Mart to snoop around or anything else he might want to do. Often we go eat dinner someplace.

You must understand that going out with Jon requires clearing your schedule for the entire day, until midnight, and psyching yourself up for truck loads of patience. He is snail slow…no, make that snails-in-reverse slow. The Pony Express moving mail across country in the beginning of our nation’s history went faster in two weeks than Jon does in an hour. (The only time he is fast is when he wanders off. In seconds, he can vanish into thin air-but that’s another topic).

Yesterday I retrieved Jon from the program at 3 pm, when it ends, and took him to a scheduled doctor appointment (annual checkup) at 3:40. When we got back in the car I asked him where he wanted to go. He ripped out a coupon from a booklet he found in the car, for a local buffet, and handed it to me. The restaurant was just up the road so we headed there. 

It was 5 pm.

Jon loves buffet! Who doesn’t? The vision of counter after counter of delicacies displayed for the taking makes most folks I know salivate with happiness. For the price of two Starbucks' lattes or less you can eat yourself to death. For Jon, part of the fun is about having choices. So many choices are made for him, but here he is king of his universe! He shuffles slowly around the food tables looking intently at each item and can waste forty five minutes filling up his first round. 

On the door, I noticed the closing hour of 8 pm as we were entering the restaurant and realized instantly this could be trouble. Three hours is not long enough for Jon to do buffet. It takes him longer than that to go back for seconds. It was too late to reverse the decision. Jon was already heading for the clean stack of plates. Deal with him melting down now or possibly later? Hmmm? Quick decision made-I opted for later.

I finished eating in forty minutes, returning once to refill my plate. The entire time Jon was still wandering up and down the aisles between the food counters trying to decide what he wanted. He spent another fifteen minutes at the help yourself drink counter and finally sauntered back to our booth with a plate in each hand piled high in the middle and all the way to the edges with chow; then went back to retrieve the drink he had poured. 

It was 6:15.

I decided it might be prudent to warn Jon ahead of time about the early closing hour, although I had a feeling that wouldn’t matter. Every half hour or so I mentioned it. 

“You better eat faster Jon, they close early here,” or “You better go back up and get more food now if you want it because they close at eight.” 

Every time I brought it up he scowled at me. Not a good sign.

At 7:50 pm, Jon was still up to his eyeballs in two full plates. He had gone back to refill one of his plates and hadn’t made it to the dessert counter yet. I walked across the room to the young man who had been collecting plates and cleaning tables all evening, and asked him for a to-go box. 

“We don’t do to-go boxes here, “he replied.

“Yes, I know. Most buffets don’t,” I shot him a look of desperation, “but there’s no way you’re going to get that food away from him and he won’t leave without it.” 

I pointed at Jon across the room.

The young man thought for a few seconds, “Let me go ask the manager if it’s ok, given the circumstance.” 

He returned a few minutes later with an empty styrofoam container and I thanked him profusely. When Jon spotted me heading back to the booth with the container, he grabbed his plate and hid it on his lap under the table. Oh boy, this isn’t going to go well.

 

I tried everything I knew to get him to put his food in that box. No way. He wanted to stay there and eat it all and all attempts to get it away from him was going to end with it upside down on the floor, if I wasn’t careful. 

I saw the kitchen employees clearing the food counters and washing them down. Then the lights started going out until I heard one of the employees shout, “Hey, we still got customers over there in the corner!” 

It was 8:15.

I won’t bore you with more details of removing Jon and his dinner from the closed restaurant. Let me just say that there were six restaurant workers including the manager and of course me pleading, begging, bribing and cajoling. 

What did the trick was this mother finally getting annoyed enough to climb over the back of the booth bench, plunking down next to Jon and shoving his one hundred and forty pound body out of the seat with my derriere! It was 8:30 pm. 

Years ago one of Jon’s funny little sayings (that he picked up from a movie I think) was, “Sometimes it’s good to have a big butt.” 

Last night he wasn’t thinking it was so good that Mom has a big one.

May I politely ask this of you? If you ever come upon a parent or caregiver trying to deal with an obstinate developmentally disabled person don’t be quick to judge what you see, especially if you just happened upon the scene and weren’t there to view the whole incident. 

We love our kids and don’t abuse them, but there are times when different measures are required to break through that wall of stubbornness and resistance they can challenge us with. Most of us are just trying to do what’s best for them while maintaining our own sanity. Sometimes that’s a tough scale to balance.

A new Jon rule to add to my list; next time we go to a buffet, check what time they close BEFORE we get out of the car!

Appropriate Words

Well, family, friends and future readers - here I am at last. 

Many of you have been telling me that I need to do this, create a place where I can share the thoughts I write with a larger audience. I've been reluctant for a long time, but won't put it off any longer.

Writing is very personal for me. A way to process then release all the parts of life that bring reflection, learning, growth, laughter, tears, worry, doubt, difficulty and despair. I guess you could call it my therapy, a spa for my heart, soul and mind.  

Words are powerful and cannot be retrieved once released. There is certainly an unlimited supply of them floating around in cyberspace so I ask myself, do we need more? Does anyone really need mine? It's one thing to write for yourself, entirely another to throw your deepest thoughts out there for the world to ponder and analyze.  My hope is to be an encouragement and proclaim Jesus as central to all of life. His mercy, grace and love is the best and only solution to every possible detail of the human condition.

Proverbs 25:11(CEV) states, The right word at the right time is like precious gold set in silver. I pray the words expressed here deliver some level of peace, comfort, grace and joy to the reader; and though you may not agree on every point, my hope is that something communicated will be the right word at the right time just for you.