Down the street and around the corner, our neighbors have created a very beautiful garden that almost seems like an outdoor room. Bamboo hedges along the street provide a sound barrier and create an area that is secluded and inviting. Last week, they hosted a birthday party for their daughter and invited the neighborhood. Brightly colored tents colored the lawn, acoustic music floated on the air, and children stood in lines to have their faces painted or to soar on a rope swing hung perfectly from a live oak over a sloping lawn leading to the lake. It was interesting to mingle with people I’d only seen from afar and to discover small commonalities that might give us a sense of community.

I found myself drawn back into the front garden each time I’d venture forth. It was so peaceful and beautiful, and I kept thinking about how they’d done something I’ve always yearned to do. They’d created a small sanctuary in which they could sit, relax, reflect, and enjoy the beauty of their surroundings.

“Don, I want to do this in our yard,” I whispered to my husband.

“You want to line the front of the house with bamboo?” he asked incredulously.

“No… I want to be able to enjoy our yard like this.”

Silence. He was thinking. Maintenance, sod, labor, time, money… his thoughts were almost audible.

He skillfully changed the subject.

I, however, have continued to dream about my outdoor retreat.

In the long months and years that followed Jesse’s death, I found myself going outside into the yard for relief. I pulled weeds, planted plants, and dug. In the labor I strove to create some order—with every weed I pulled, I gained some small measure of control over life. It became a passion, then an obsession. It wasn’t until Marla was born that I came inside—I couldn’t care for a newborn baby and pull weeds at the same time. I’d often find myself cradling her in my arms and gazing longingly at the yard. The feeling slowly faded as time, life, and busyness filled my days.

Now, the passion for creating order and a place to reflect has returned. When I go into the yard I see possibilities and I dream. I’m grateful that the pain and sorrow that have clouded so many years of my life have not made me bitter, and that I can still find delight in the daily gifts of God all around me that testify to his greatness as the divine artist and creator.