Mary's Garden

I walk a lot these days.

Twice daily the two babies I am nanny to are wrestled into the double stroller, sung little silly songs to until they're settled back and away we go.

By the time they're both sleeping I'm often entering into one of my favourite areas... the beautiful Avondale Cemetery. 

Old, majestic trees fully robed in their summer greenery, tower above me as I dare to traipse through their kingdom. 

The winding lanes and pathways up and around the side of the hill in the oldest part of the cemetery create the perfect shade. It's quiet usually. Somber. Sad. But so peaceful. And in a way, Timeless.


A sea of aging tombstones standing, leaning, fading, but still echoing back in their deeply etched stone a simple epitaph. Sometimes only a name and a date. 

Last week, I saw one that I must have walked by dozens of times but never noticed the name.
The name;
Margaret Mary Garden.

I stopped dead. ( figuratively speaking )

I've never seen my name "Mary Margaret"  (or the reverse) on any tombstones. Even my mother for whom I am named has only "Margaret" not her middle name "Mary" on her headstone.

I stood there... asking Father for insight.... you see...recently the whole metaphor of my life, my heart, my most intimate self being a garden has been ...well... Growing!

Of course, having the name Mary means that I've had people rattle off the nursery rhyme to me for my entire life.
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?"

How is my garden? My soul?

It feels as though it is dry.... arid... lonely...  but there have been such incredible oasis too.
Am I keeping it protected? Are the weeds being pulled? Trees being pruned? Rodents and rascals being trapped and kept out? Diseases and destroying pests being identified and eliminated? In this drought, am I pushing deeper with the roots of faith into the soil and foundation of God's Love, Grace and Mercy?

I want this season; this new desert time; to bring me an appreciation for the desert garden in it's unique beauty.
So I can say as Jesus did in a garden long ago... "Not my will, Father, but your's be done.