The Garden of Life
It’s summer, so I’m back in the garden again. It’s teeming with life and, as always, sparking so many thoughts for reflection. I’ve always said that I believe we can learn some of the most important things about life and death in the garden. It’s no wonder that God chose gardens as the setting for some of His deepest revelations — Eden at the beginning, Gethsemane near the end. Gardens don’t just grow things. They reveal things.
A few days ago, as I dug holes for twenty salvia plants, I paused to notice all the activity around me. The ants were the first to catch my attention. I always cringe when I lift a rock and see the panic I've unintentionally caused, as ants rush frantically in all directions carrying their young. I try to make sure that none are left behind, and I pray they quickly find a safe new place to settle with their group. Above and around me, the birds dart from tree to feeder, chipmunks scurry by with cheeks full of seeds, and squirrels chase each other up and down tree trunks and leap across branches like trained gymnasts. All the creatures are busy, and none seem to remain still for very long — except for brief moments when danger seems imminent. The activity of the creatures around me is driven by instinct — to survive, to reproduce, to protect.
I too am driven by instincts — the need to eat, to earn a living, to stay safe, and to protect myself and my family. Much of my day is shaped by these basic needs: preparing meals, working, exercising, paying bills, and tending to the home, the land, and the people I love. These are the rhythms of life and survival. However, unlike the animals, I am not bound by instinct alone. With each moment, I’m given the opportunity to pause and consider: What truly needs to be done and why? What can wait? What can be offered up or even let go? I can choose to rush and act mindlessly, or I can slow down and pay attention to what I’m doing and why. In this way, even the most ordinary tasks — shopping, cooking, cleaning, gardening — become invitations to discernment, helping to create a meaningful, intentional life rooted in love. Am I acting with purpose? With love for others and all of creation? With God? This is how we live our faith in the midst of life’s most ordinary moments.
What a gift I’ve been given — the freedom to notice, to act with intention, and to live not merely for survival, but with faith, hope, and love. It’s a profound privilege: the ability to rise above the pull of impulse and break free from the slavery of habit. I can stop. I can discern. I can offer. And I somehow innately know that my choices matter to my Creator, a knowing that is also a gift from God. Every small act of love, every moment of consideration, every quiet “yes” or courageous “no” is noticed. This is one of the greatest blessings of my humanity: not just the freedom to act, but the freedom to act with purpose — through, for, and with God.
I’m grateful for the reminders I received in the garden. There is much to do, and much of it matters. Like the animals, I must tend to the rhythms of daily life — gathering, preparing, maintaining. But to be fully human is to move beyond instinct and into intention. It’s not easy. At times, it can even feel unnatural as we resist the pull of our ingrained habits and urges. But we are not left to do it alone. God leads us with wisdom and gives us the supernatural grace we need to move beyond impulse or reaction. We need only be still, ask, listen, and trust that He will give us the grace to see clearly, choose well, and act in ways that will bear fruit — for ourselves, for others, for the world — on earth and for eternity.
P.S. If you appreciated this reflection, you might also enjoy When on Earth — a book by AFIRE founder Nina Marie Corona, filled with personal stories about finding God in the midst of everyday life.
