For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and a time to build up. A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance. [Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 (NLT)]
We enjoy walking in the local Botanical Garden as well as the nearby Corkscrew Swamp. Although both offer plenty of photo ops and pleasant strolls in God’s creation, the Garden offers more color and variety than a swamp any day. Nevertheless, as much as I enjoy the Garden’s beauty and serenity, I feel more at home in the swamp.
While the Botanical Garden always has an abundance of showy colorful orchids, the swamp’s “super ghost orchid” has blossoms for only a few weeks each year. Even then, you need binoculars or a spotting scope to view its delicate (and not very impressive) flowers. At various times of the year, the swamp has wildflowers like blue flag iris, morning glories, and string lilies but they pale in comparison to the variety of exotic flora found in the Garden all year long. If the swamp’s flowers were in a beauty contest with the Garden’s flamboyant blooms like the passion flower or flaming glory bower, they’d easily lose.
Carefully designed by world-famous landscape architects and impeccably maintained by staff and volunteers, the Botanical Garden speaks of order, design, and perfection; nothing ever seems amiss. The Garden’s plants are beautifully pruned, fertilized, and fussed over. Weeds are quickly pulled and, should a plant wither or die, a lovely new one quickly replaces it.
In contrast, the swamp, with no apparent plan to its layout or plants, is a hodgepodge of flora, fauna, and water that changes almost daily. Completely dependent on rain for its existence, its animals and plants are left to the whims of the weather and Mother Nature. No one pulls the weeds, deadheads the flowers, shapes the trees, or brushes away dead leaves. Lightening and hurricanes take a heavy toll on the swamp’s plant life and, when conditions aren’t favorable, plants wither and die while animals move elsewhere. Dead trees eventually fall and, unless they’re blocking the trail, wherever they land is where they remain.
Try as I might, my life will never have the exquisite perfection of a Botanical Garden. In truth, it resembles the unpredictable and disordered swamp more than any garden. Perhaps, that’s why I enjoy it so much. The swamp is imperfect, changeable, and full of surprises. I never know what flowers will be in bloom, what birds will appear, or if I’ll see alligators, snakes, raccoons, or deer. The only thing I know for sure is that the swamp never disappoints; it always is wonderful and wild in its own unique way!
Life, like the swamp, is chaotic, disorganized, and a little dangerous; nevertheless, it is magnificent! As much as we might prefer it to be as ordered, serene, and pristine as a botanical garden, it isn’t! We’re sure to encounter life’s versions of thistles, mosquitoes, fungus, poison ivy, and animal scat. Nevertheless, along the way, there will be blessings like the swamp’s Roseate Spoonbills, sunflowers, deer, Scarlet Hibiscus, butterflies, and tiny green tree frogs! Like the swamp, we’ll have seasons of abundance and scarcity, downpours and drought, growth and dormancy, health and affliction, blessings and misfortune, beginnings and endings, and even occasional hurricanes. Life comes with its share of muck, weeds, pests, predators, storms, and vulnerability to circumstances beyond our control. The only sure thing is that God is with us during it all!
It’s ironic that our local Botanical Garden is in what used to be a swamp. The 250,000 yards of fill created after two lakes were dug in 2008 sculpted the property into the splendid showplace it is today. Someday, we will trade in our earthly swamp for God’s heavenly garden—a garden far more magnificent than any earthly garden—one with no disease, death, sorrow, pain, or weeds. Until then, we must be satisfied living in the crazy and wonderful swamp we call life. As we walk through it, we brush off the spider webs, avoid the scat on the trail, stay clear of the alligators, and look for the swamp’s gifts. Confident in the swamp’s creator, we find joy and contentment in the unique beauty of our somewhat confusing and chaotic journey. Thank you, God, for this amazing holy mess we call life!
What would you do if you were six and your father said that your mom is in the hospital because she finds it hard to be happy and “did something stupid”? That question is answered in Duncan Macmillan and Jonny Donahoe’s one-act play, Every Brilliant Thing. In their play, that boy, now a grown man, tells the audience that he made of list of everything that was “brilliant” about the world—everything worth living for—and left it on his mother’s pillow. Reflecting a six-year old’s priorities, the list included ice cream, Kung-Fu movies, laughing so hard you shoot milk out your nose, burning things, construction cranes, and “me.” Although she returns the list with its spelling corrected, the boy’s mother never comments on it. Nevertheless, he keeps adding to his list. Although his mother eventually takes her life, the narrator tells how his list took on a life of its own and eventually saved him from his own depression and suicidal thoughts.
Making the point that wisdom is better than strength, the sage Agur spoke of the wisdom of ants, locusts, lizards, and sāphān. Often translated as badgers, rock-badgers, hyraxes, conies, or marmots, the animal’s exact identity is unknown but commentators suspect it to be the Syrian rock hyrax. Looking like a cross between a rabbit, guinea pig, and meerkat, these social animals gather in colonies of up to 80 individuals. Sleeping and eating together, they live in the natural crevices of rocks and boulders or take over the abandoned burrows of other animals.
The attackers march like warriors and scale city walls like soldiers. Straight forward they march, never breaking rank. They never jostle each other; each moves in exactly the right position. They break through defenses without missing a step. [Joel 2:7-8 (NLT)]
When I saw a wildflower that looked like a helicopter’s rotors, I showed it to the park’s naturalist for identification. Not as impressive as Scarlet Hibiscus or as colorful as Butterfly Weed, she found the plant unworthy of name or notice and wrote it off as “just a weed!” What some people call “weeds,” I think of as wildflowers and a little research told me it was the floret of Egyptian Crowfoot Grass (Dactyloctenium aegyptium). Native to Africa and widely distributed throughout the tropics and subtropics, it is one of the most drought-resistant of grasses.
The patient Cormorant had been diving and resurfacing empty-beaked for several minutes before finally emerging victorious with a large fish crosswise in its beak. The fish thrashed in the cormorant’s beak while the bird tried to re-position its meal so it could be swallowed head first. A Brown Pelican suddenly crashed into the water and, after a great deal of wing flapping and water splashing, it was clear the Cormorant was no match for the larger bird. While the Pelican threw back its head and swallowed the unlucky fish, the unfortunate cormorant swam away still hungry.
Devotions of the Heart 