Sunday, 27 March 2016

My own fig tree

Today I potted a fig tree which now resides in the corner of the terrace. Beside it is a pelargonium and a heliotrope 'cherry pie' plant. My fig tree is 'Brown Turkey'. I also have vines - grapes and passionfruit.

Easter Sunday saw the garden centres doing a roaring trade as I went to buy potting mix. I made a suggestion at church that we have olive trees and grapevines but this was rejected. The reason we can't have a garden is the church yard is meant to be a 'kid's playground'. I said ok, but I was disappointed. My pastor said a tree would ruin the lawn, be hard to mow around and there would be security issues with trees (?!) and the grapevine would attract bees and wasps which could sting people.

I'm annoyed because I don't have kids and there's plenty of playgrounds around where 'kids' can play but there's not many gardens where sheep and lambs can pray in private. I'm sure Jesus didn't go to a kids playground to have a quiet time with His father...

I thought about leaving this church behind and finding new pastures but was at loss of where to go. The goats had trampled the grass and the locusts and caterpillars had eaten the strawberries I planted in the hanging baskets. Also the playhouse was abandoned and growing mould and the sandpit...I had never seen anyone playing in it.

I went back home, well, as it turns out, is not my home after all. It's my parents and apparently I have no right to even garden there either. They are just tolerating me. Maybe the other church members who only attended church at Easter weren't missing out on anything after all. I am too young for the Bowls club and too old for Sunday School. The only other churches around played Christian 'Rock' that hurt my head. I asked God for a home of my own. Impossible in Auckland where the house prices start from half a million but it does say that Jesus prepares a place for us in his Fathers house in which there are many mansions.

After He rose from the dead his good friend Mary mistook him for a gardener. I can just picture Jesus smirking in the garden after Mary asks him where he has hid his own body. Gardeners know all the dirt.