Boston Garden

I planted a garden in front of our son’s bedroom window yesterday.  It was a spur-of-the-moment decision that has been germinating in the back of my mind for years.  On that side of the house is the location of the ugly sprinkling system manifold. Since ugliness generally attracts ugliness, we decided to generously pile more of it by keeping the yard waste bins there, in addition to scrap fence pieces and excess plastic flower pots. In the corner against our neighbor’s fence is the compost pile where all the organic matter not consumed by our household is rotting in the central Florida heat and humidity.

Such  has been the view from his bedroom window all these years.

I worked hard all morning and well into the afternoon, the dumpy area slowly reclaimed, taking modest shape of beauty and foreshadowing future glory.

I will remember April 15 as the day this garden was born, I thought, and the thought filled me with much satisfaction and joy.

Then, I came in and heard about the 

explosions at the finish line of Boston Marathon.  The thought of the memory of April 15^th as the birthday of the beautiful garden in front of our son’s bedroom window mocked me, spitting venom into my face.  It was as if the bomber reached beyond the marathon path, across the fence and into our back yard and planted  the deadly device amidst the gladiolas, day lilies, jasmine and petunias, leaving devastation and carnage behind.

The day will be remembered for mutilation, dismemberment and death… the smell of burnt flesh, He scoffed. ...It will be forever remembered as the day of fear and terror and the  power of evil to kill and destroy everything noble and beautiful and kind……So, why bother, then? Why bother planting the gardens and sowing seeds and training the vines…? Why bother creating beauty out of ugliness…?

The last thought hit me even stronger than explosion of hopelessness and despair.

Because... because there CAN arise beauty out of the compost pile…And there IS  a greater power in patience and prayer, love and life then momentary power of destruction and death.

And so the garden now growing in front of our son’s bedroom window became an intersection where life and death, love and hate collided...  A place of remembrance and prayer that in His time, God who gives beauty for ashes would bring about His goodness and glory, His manifest presence in and out of Boston just as He has done in the Boston Garden in our own back yard.