My garden a Galilee

With the exception of a tub of purple asters and an acer, I did not plant anything in this gloriously colourful garden. No; it was all waiting for me. An abundance of roses and Michaelmas daisies greeted me when I moved in last September, but then, as autumn seeped into early winter, all was stripped back, bare and brittle; seemingly dead - except for a proliferation of wild garlic. Seemingly dead... but, unseen and beyond my awareness, the hardened soil held the promise of new life, just a few inches below the surface. 

And then... And then, in early January, as the weather turned depressingly, unremittingly grey and wet, some utterly unexpected, wonderfully surprising green shoots began to appear, colonising bare patches, and squeezing their way through gaps in paving slabs. Tiny joys I called them, as they cheekily, resolutely pushed their way into a world and a new year already filled with darkness and death, proclaiming spring's eventuality, and diluting winter's greyness and my own drooping spirits with their resilience, and vibrant green.

If January was the month of tiny joys, then February was filled with wild garlic! Weeding this became part of my Lent: the whole process of uprooting, clearing, revealing half-choked primroses and violets speaking to my Lenten call to clear a space for grace. And throughout, the tiny joys grew oh-so slowly, holding their promise for what felt like an infinity... until in March, as we headed into Passiontide, the first petals of the first blubells began to uncurl, gradually filling this little space with a tide of violet-blue, meeting and merging with the incoming tide of spring's glorious greening. 

I had already written about these in detail: the tiny joys... clearing the space... the first bluebells... And then, in a sudden burst of Holy Saturday sunshine, as I gazed out on this...

... I thought: I did not plant any of this; all this was waiting for me. All this was buried in the soil; hidden, incubating, waiting... For me, and for this moment of Easter. And from somewhere deep within, a line came to me from our formation document... The Resurrected One waits for us in our own Galilees, in the blessings and challenges of reality, to make us more human and more able to give and receive love. 

Galilee... The place of encounter with Jesus: the place, too, where he calls and missions, strengthens, heals, and reveals the God who is all Love. Galilee... A place which can be anywhere, including my little front garden, where Jesus, the Resurrected One, the greatest of all our joys, and the source of all our new life, awaits and appears amid spring's tiny joys. And whether here, or in a thousand other Galilees, Jesus waits for each one of us in our places of encounter with him, in the blessings and challenges of our daily lives in our wounded, angry, fragmented world, wanting only to make us all more human, and more able to give and receive love. 

Where is Jesus waiting for you today?