He was just a child, maybe 11 or 12 with a sweet, peace-filled face. A gardener was there, standing near an established bush, giving the boy room and freedom to help him with plantings. It was a curious sight, this young boy whose face was smudged with black dirt and the gardener whose face I never saw. The boy planted soft ground covering in dark soil and, when finished, brushed his hand ever-so-gently across the tops of the greenery, as if touching the softest of down. He raised is head and smiled at the gardener. From the nod of the gardener’s head, I knew that he must be smiling in approval. The boy planted flowers and kissed each bloom. He breathed in the fragrance and his face was that of pure joy. Again, the gardener nodded. The boy dug a hole in the black dirt and planted a small tree. When he finished, he stood back and looked at it. He then put his arms around the tree trunk and hugged the tree for a moment. The gardener motioned for the boy to come to him. He put his arm around his shoulder. The boy looked up at the man. The gardener glanced my way and said, “Isn’t this creation beautiful?” I looked the way of the ground covering and flowers and tree and said, “Yes, it is beautiful.” He said, “I’m speaking of this child. Isn’t he one of my most beautiful creations?”
I went to bed last night hoping that I would sleep later into this morning but I woke myself up from unusually good sleep so that I might remember this dream. I wanted to remember the one with the sweet, peace-filled face and few skills … but skills that he did so well … with such care and love. I wanted to remember the gardener/Creator’s demeanor and voice and words as we stood and watched this child. And I wanted to feel the hope that even in those days when I fall way short of this child's love and care and gentleness and skill in the one thing that he did so well - when I fall face-down in the dirt of my day - still I might hear from the gardener/Creator, "You have a little dirt on your face, but you are still a beautiful creation to me."
(c)2013 anna murdock
Sunday, August 4, 2013
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