There are seasons in the spiritual life that feel like winter forever — long stretches when nothing seems to grow. And then, with the patience that belongs only to grace, the garden of the soul comes into bloom. This sonnet honors that quiet, almost embarrassing abundance.
The Sonnet
The seeds I scattered in some former year Have come, at last, into their tender prime, And in this hush of summer, sweet and clear, The garden answers what was sown in time. Each flower is a kindness long delayed, Each blossom an old prayer remembered now, The thorns have softened where I once was flayed, And blessing rests upon the bending bough. I had not thought to see such fullness given, Had grown accustomed to the leaner field, Yet here is summer, here is something heaven Has tended into ripeness, sealed and healed. So walk with me among these patient rows — The God who plants is also He who knows.
Reflection
Spiritual abundance is not the absence of struggle. It is what arrives after the struggle has done its work, when seasons of waiting and trusting and even doubting have turned into something unexpectedly whole. The bloom is not a reward for good behavior. It is what happens when grace has been allowed to do its slow gardening.
When the garden comes into flower, the temptation is to wonder if we deserve it. But that’s the wrong question. The gift was never about deserving. The seed was planted by a hand other than ours. The tending was done in seasons we slept through. What we are seeing now is not our doing but our inheritance.
If your garden has come into bloom, walk gratefully through it. If you are still waiting for the season to turn, take heart — the One who plants in winter is preparing your summer too.
