Sixteen
The rewards expanded by blessing of God,
our union produced Him new life.
Next garden creation was placed in our care
to teach from our love and our strife
which led to reunion, the closing of miles
in visit by parents of mine,
but joy became grievous. I was unprepared
when we were forced to draw the line.
The women remained in our one bedroom flat
to share in the joy of our son
while dad and I went to prepare the new home,
enjoying the work to be done.
We worked to completion the larger next home
and I loved the help he did give,
but I pained his speaking, his constant advice,
on how we as parents should live.
Because I respected him I heard him out,
yet my heart said not to agree.
Though he was my teacher, my learnings now showed
he taught while unable to see.
“You teach the boy manhood, to stand up to all
for weakness will never endure,
and many will push him so he must push first.
That he can push you should ensure.”
I silently dealt with my inner debate
not wishing to dishonour him,
then answer was sure. I must tell him the truth.
The Seed is instruction, not whim.
The Light of Seed Special shines on every soil.
In this, dad’s soil also belonged.
Agreement with him was a block to his Light,
to state it as right what was wrong.
And truth, simply spoken, no wish to contend,
I presented plain in his sight,
“I will teach to manhood and how to stand firm,
but push is not proper to Light.”
The stony, chill feelings upon their goodbye
showed my wife had not better fared.
My mother praised money as basis for boy.
Respectful, my wife stopped her there.
Alone, I gave study the change which was clear:
they were not the pair of my youth.
Though they had provided, and taught me in right,
their words were of rote and not Truth.
Our prayers were requests that their blindness would lift,
that Light would help them understand,
but though I could lose them the truth must endure
by shining of Light in our hand.
I tried posting letters (response was the same)
to reconcile with them in Light.
Unless I obeyed them they would not forgive.
Regretful, I stepped from their sight.
But, sorrow was lifted by new flowers grown!
I gained of the best by the worst.
Despite my desires, I denied myself
to keep truth of Special Plant first.
Seventeen
We tended our boy-gift and worked to provide
with “no” word to guide to His name.
We taught him to garden when thought patterns grew
and death of his first flower came.
Our evening discussions amid cards or games
would teach him the Seed Special way
and he took to learning like fish to the sea,
his questions increased every day.
Then on his first school day we pained in our smiles
(his tastes of the world must be faced).
His holding Seed Special the world would oppose.
We prayed his would not lay to waste.
Our family talks were to learn of his day
and teach him, in Light, what to do.
We joyed his confession, though serious faced,
he spoke false and nobody knew.
But though we were teachers we had more to learn.
His garden was claimed as our own
with signs of his goodness a credit to us,
and pride caused us to be alone…
…
Our frenzied arrival to hospital bed
drove home the shock of sudden news:
our boy suffered injury playing at school,
the battle for life he might lose!!
The life support beeped its mechanical hope,
the tubes which conveyed blood and air
surrounded our blessing (we were so unfit!),
his stillness spoke volumes in there
for what God has given He can take away.
It was to be His Word we taught.
But we sought possession of what was not ours.
This grief was what vanity bought.
We prayed in the chapel, we knelt by his bed,
while pleading He grant a new start,
but life support flat-lined at end of one week
to signal the stop of his heart!..
The code-blue was sounded and nurses made haste.
They ushered us into the hall.
We both prayed the Father, “Your wisdom is great.
We’ll suffer this loss for our fall.
Our flowers, his flowers, the bloomings of all,
Creator, they belong to You.
We are but stewards of Grace You extend,
it’s Your will and glory we do.”
Our gardens abounded for heeding His will,
and reasons for thanks were increased
when doctor said, smiling, “I cannot explain.
Despite odds his life has not ceased.”
Our thankfulness sounded! God’s glory unchecked
for all there applauded the joy!
Forgiveness was given, His mercy saw fit
to resume us teaching His boy.
Unshaven, dishevelled – she was a mess, too –
results of our seven day brood
collapsed into nothing when he opened eyes
and smiled, saying, “I want some food.”
The home celebration when his health returned
was laughter as all who could, came.
Our trumpet on rooftop bore witness of truth:
thanks given through Special Plant’s Name
as even in crisis He stood by our side
to guide us in trying to cope.
So faithful the presence of He who is Love
that turmoil is but means to hope.
A hope that’s rewarded by more than what’s lost
for certain He’d always remain
to add to us, blessing us, filling our cups
with more than we ever hoped gain.
So gladness surprised by my parents on phone
(their absence embarrassment bid).
In their words the Light shone, and humbly expressed
my dad’s proud, “Can we see the kid?”
I fully invited their presence, assured
that honour was still theirs from me.
They thanked me that they had not meddled more harm,
“Your words of Light helped us to see.”
We praised the Creator of gardens of us
(forgetting, we could not afford).
When our life was tragic it was only Him
who caused that all things be restored.
Eighteen
We travelled the years in the time stream, our path
made straight by our Special Plant’s way.
The passing of our younger times was not mourned.
Plant Special meant tasting each day.
We found them quite filling, both easy and hard,
as all things held something to learn,
and well taken learnings help new flowers grow.
Abundance, good pupils do earn.
Nineteen
The time came I wandered from my straightened path
by thinking how much I was good.
“The fruits of my labour,” I patted my back,
“are right for I do as I should.”
I felt as God’s favourite, my garden the proof
that actions provided the why,
but where I had come from was knocked at my door:
said woman, “Your daughter am I.” ..!
My wife was out shopping, my boy playing ball
(they need not to witness my shame),
this woman describing her mother, once mine,
for I could not recall her name.
I fretfully studied this one whom I sired
(her denim and studs looked a joke).
There was disguised beauty, just aged twenty years.
She clouded her face with a smoke.
“I was only a boy (I found voice at last)
when your mom and I became one.
I’d not known Seed Special, my ignorance showed.
I used her and then I had run!”
“The time is,” she told me, “the piper be paid.
You danced and the band has a price.
Since you are my father you must tend to yours
with snake-eyes the roll of your dice.”
“Your mother said nothing,” came my lame excuse,
“I knew nothing of you, at all.”
“She never did love you, does not know I’m here.
It’s my reasons I give you call.”
An ugly word: blackmail. Effective it is
on one who’s forgotten the Lord.
I valued my goodness and not what was right.
I gave her all I could afford.
…
My moping, apparent to my wife and son
was kept silenced in my regret.
I feared a returning when money was gone
of weed garden I did beget.
Then I saw my garden (the flowers ignored
as products of Light given seeds)
was quickly approached by the spoiler of gains,
the long forgot presence of weeds!
Immediately I made haste to a church.
I prayed in Plant Special to God.
My vain risen ego had caused weeds to grow.
I prayed He would not spare the rod.
I thought the return of weeds had shamed my Lord
and mercy I could not have sought.
I wanted to suffer! I richly deserved
that loss of the Plant be my lot!
But elderly preacher had heard my dismay.
He spoke wisdom into my ear,
“Are you letting weeds grow?” – I had just found out –
“Then, son you have nothing to fear.
When weeds come apparent, though Seed Special grows,
the choice is then given to you
to let weeds continue or seek them removed.
Peace of mind’s in what you do.
“Your skeletoned closet was merely to show
that, while in this world, there is strife.
To feel you are perfect states your work is done,
but work only ends with this life.
Plant Special is not lost, Its purpose endures
to lead you in walk that is yours.
Your work is deciding between right and wrong,
and such tasks come to men in scores.
“Continued, not caring that your choice is wrong
delivers Plant Special to shame,
but opting for God’s way gives glory to Plant
whose Light then keeps you in the game.”
He left me to wonder the truth of his words
and resolve the way to proceed:
confession to family, they deserved the truth,
while tending my daughter’s true need.
I had not expected reaction of wife.
She held her hurt hidden from me.
My son was astounded from learning that I
was human, not built perfectly.
They both would vacation while I remained home.
At her father’s house they would stay.
“It’s not of your daughter,” her reasons explained,
“not trusting us takes us away.”
I knew this was needed, her time spent alone,
so I helped their things to the car.
My presence would not help her sort out her thoughts
… so my presence sat in a bar.
Though I received preacher of wisdom in words
my mind of myself read them first
to seek out the method where I’d save the day,
where failure could call me the worst.
Accused as unworthy, declaimed as a fraud
with critical thoughts all around.
Since I was so useless I could not debate
these judgments, so I sought them drowned.
The cold kitchen tiles were my call to the morn,
the first in a lot of unease.
My throat craved for water, my ears were fine tuned
(how long just to get to my knees!).
I struggled a coffee, then sloughed to a chair.
The cobwebs slow motioned my feet.
An effort was needed to focus my mind:
… some hair-of-the-dog would be meet.
I had bought a bottle – I could not say when
for hazy recalled was the night –
and not quite half empty it offered the chance
for setting pain cobwebs to right.
There was no excuse for the merry-go-round.
My conscious stayed deeply in sleep,
but body did not have the sense to lay down
again sowing folly to reap.
The next day awakened (at least on the couch)
to wonder why I lived and how,
but pain became frozen when strange woman spoke
from bedroom, “How do you feel now?”
“My God! What have I done!?!” I cried in dismay
(and renewed the pain in my head),
“I’ve taken on strange flesh in my carnal lust
to desecrate my marriage bed!”
Her laughter seemed mockery of my despair,
to salt the wounds already raw.
“Free your mind from worry,” she gasped close to tears,
“You broke not what God said was law.
You helped me in tavern when bullies had pushed.
‘Let chivalry live!’ was your cry.
Your pickled condition could not let you fight
nor lust. But now, how is your eye?”
My pained head was not only liquor induced,
my left eye would not let me see.
“You were one-punch hero.” And irony seen,
for one punch was given to me.
She merely was helping a misguided man
to make sure he got home okay.
It was for my safety, for I was quite drunk,
that had her remain until day.
I thanked her for kindness as coffee was made
and we settled down for a chat.
“You called to the Father,” she said off-the-cuff,
“now why would you want to do that?”
“My life had Plant Special,” I explained to her,
“for His Light was one time my Lord,
but I am unworthy enough as it is.
Adultery goes overboard.
Since I am a failure I needed to pay
for grief which was caused by my life,
but hurting another by self-imposed pain
is wrong, and especially my wife.”
“I see,” she conceded, but not with a laugh
as I thought she would want to do,
“If you feel unworthy, why do you seek right?
Does your heart reflect Light in you?”
I told her the story of daughter returned,
how pride made my family go,
how I had not helped daughter deal with her weeds,
how self pity brought me this low.
“Perhaps you should let go of what you call self.
It’s not really yours, anyway.
All things are the Father’s to use as He wills.
Your only choice is let Light stay.
Your calling the shots for restoring the past
and stating the methods to pay,
removing yourself as your own punishment
does not sound the least like His way.
You know how He suffered in garden, His own,
so ALL weeds are taken by Plant.
By living your judgments of methods and price
says He did not do this, and can’t.”
The words she had spoken agreed with my heart
(I thought I deserved what was mine).
Unprofitted servant who does as is bid
is what the Lord regards as fine.
“Then I cease this drinking by bottle to sink,”
I said, pouring liquor down drain,
“and I’ll wait on God’s Light to show me the way
in patience, despite all the strain.”
“You feel it is worth it?” she queried my choice.
“I do.” I confirmed to my call,
“The Father awaited, though time may be long,
is better than not God at all.”
She smiled as she left, looking pleased at my choice,
but her last words puzzled my mind:
“Fret not for your daughter. The Lord has His plans,
but her Light is not yours to find.”
I thoughtfully studied on what I would say
when I, before God, bent my knee.
I knew for my own sake my heart must be sure.
My heart and my words must agree.
The Light showed my folly by showing what’s right
as I pondered lesson I learned.
Then, finally ready, the Father I prayed
and spoke of the things I now yearned:
“I regret my thinking Your Plant not enough,
that more should be added to Grace.
Just once on the cross assured all was complete
with my life now hid in His face.
“I’ll not ask my wife back, nor with her my son,
nor daughter I sired long ago.
I ask only your Grace to let me keep Plant,
ensuring my garden will grow.
I need the Plant Special, my life is a gift
and all things in this world must pass.
I can’t take it with me, so garden is all.
Good flowers in Light would amass.”
Twenty
I gave the predominance to my Plant’s Light
for choosing the good over bad.
When I certained His mind then I would agree,
content with the things that I had.
A tender relationship was in His way
as closer I sought out His will.
He was not a sergeant to bark out commands
and leave me to trust my own skill,
for though I had felt of His mercy to bless
I now deeper saw Gift as free
which knew who I was, and I am, and will be,
yet wholly accepted this me.
The more that I realized how much He had gave,
the more I desired to give back
in His name as worship (a curious thing:
to give of Plant never saw lack).
As charity, worship, an offer of praise,
was simply to say, “All is Yours.”
The Lord gives the family, the health and the wage,
supplying from heavenly stores.
My garden was prospered. My family came home
(not mine, to the Lord they belonged),
and I would not covet their presence returned
as I found great distaste for wrong.
Yet I often wondered about her who helped.
Not one in our town heard of her,
but Gardening Studies of Botany book
revealed what I would feel as sure.
Some could say delusion, some could say a lie,
no matter for I myself know:
‘twas ministering angel sent out as an aide
and guide for my flowers to grow.
So much was my value to Father above
that He would not stop seeking me.
He called and He sent and He reached … then again,
until I could hear and get free
from bonds of deception in my foolishness
where I thought He’d never forgive.
The impact, gigantic; He does not give up!
He’d be for me long as I live.
This inner renewal expanded Love’s love
in caring for my wife and son,
and one day the headlines confirmed angel’s words:
“The will of the Father be done.”
For there was my daughter – a photo which beamed
and only the face was the same –
an excellent writing award was her gain.
Success was at last to her name.
Upon further reading, her writing I found
reflected allusion to Light.
Though we never met again I knew the truth:
the Lord’s plan proceeded aright.
