by Cathy Baker | Faith |
Just about every morning you’ll find me watering and deadheading flowers. The term “deadheading” may sound brutal, but it simply means to snip off the flowers that have finished blooming.
The visible perk to deadheading is obvious. It gives the garden a tidy look. You see only fresh flowers blooming — nothing brown, dried up, or crispy. (Dinner, anyone?)
The not-so-visible perks, however, are hard at work below the surface. When a spent flower is removed, the plant is “tricked” as it continues to pour its energy into producing more flowers. Continual deadheading also helps to cut down on diseases and insects, making for a much healthier plant overall.
This morning, I couldn’t help but think of how the procedure hits home. When I fail to “deadhead” the sin in my life on a regular basis I am, in essence, allowing the production of those things God desires to create in and through me become sluggish and perhaps even non-existent.
I like David’s method of “deadheading.” It’s found in Psalm 139:23, 24:
“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”
I trust only God to reveal all things – both the hidden and the obvious – and then it is my responsibility to say to my sin: “Off with your head!”
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
This morning, I headed to Spartanburg, my hometown, to visit my great-aunt Helen. (Sister to my grandmother who passed away in December) When asked if I would like to look at some pictures, I said sure! I was expecting the “norm” — pictures of our immediate family, cousins and aunts. Instead, to my surprise, she pulled out pictures of great-grandparents and even great-great-grandparents I had never known or seen. This was an unexpected blessing as I had understood the family pictures to have been burned in a house fire many years ago. With each picture, came a story. I plan to go back and record those stories next time.
For some reason, the older I get the more interested I become in my family genealogy. Who were they? What was their passion in life? Did they have a vibrant relationship with the Lord? Did they ever think of the generations that were to come?
On my way home, I listened to one of my favorite CD’s, Sara Groves’ Conversations. There’s a song called “Generations” that literally brings tears to my eyes every single time I hear it. In the song she recounts the effect that Eve’s decision has on us and how that applies to us today. Here’s the chorus and bridge:
Remind me of this with every decision,
generations will reap what I sow.
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know
To my great, great, great granddaughter:
Live in peace
To my great, great, great grandson:
Live in peace
Beautiful song. So why the tears? First, out of an overflow of gratitude for God’s grace. Secondly, because I do try to think about how my decisions today WILL affect the generations that I will never meet on this side of heaven.
As some of you may know, I’ve kept a journal for over 15 years. In it I record “my” victories as well as my many defeats; prayers for my husband, boys, future (and now present!) daughter-in-laws. I also pray for the generations to come. You see, I want my grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren to know, without a doubt, that they were on my mind… and especially in my prayers, confident of God’s faithfulness throughout generations.
“I will sing of the LORD’S great love forever; with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known through all generations.”
Psalm 89:1
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
I’ve been waiting three years to see this baby bloom and the timing couldn’t be better. The recent heat wave has wreaked havoc on some areas in my garden, but seeing this G. Kuhnert hydrangea beginning to bloom for the first time, in the most adverse weather conditions, has served as a small but powerful reminder that even when we’re feeling parched (spiritually, emotionally, or physically), there is beauty waiting to be discovered. One that our heavenly Father alone can create amidst any and all circumstances. Praise the Lord!
“I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland, to give drink to my people, my chosen, the people I formed for myself that they may proclaim my praise.” Isaiah 43: 19b-21
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
The older I get, the more I enjoy history. I’m intrigued by the stories buried behind our nation, our state, our foundational beliefs, and much more. On a smaller scale, I also enjoy having plants with a “history” in my yard. Like these…
Chapter I: These flowers came from one of my grandmother’s (Alberta Scott) yard in Fairforest SC. She and my grandfather had to leave their home of 50+ years when their health began to fail. On the day before closing, I was given permission to dig up whatever plants I wanted from the yard. I chose her tea roses, one hydrangea bush and a few Amaryllis bulbs (see pictures below)
Chapter II: From my other grandmother, Elsie Knighton, who recently passed away, I received a Carolina Allspice shrub. Grandmother’s shrub came from her mother’s yard and her mother’s shrub came from her sister’s yard, a great-great-Aunt I never knew. How cool is that? I’m currently rooting a few roses cuttings from grandmother’s rose bush, which originated in her mother’s yard as well. (no pictures)
Chapter III: About 10-15 years ago, I came upon an ad in a local paper from an elderly woman, Mrs. Miriam Snow, who was selling old-timey daffodils. She wore a brimmed hat and had the spunk of a 20 year old woman. I remember thinking how I wanted to be like her at that age — hoeing, digging up plants and planting bulbs in full expectation of being there the following season to see them bloom. I continued going back for more plants every year up until a few years ago, when she developed Alzheimers. Mrs. Snow was an aficionado of daylilies and I treasure the ones I was able to dig up over the years. Here are some of my favorites, including a Bottlebrush Buckeye Shrub that came from her yard.
Chapter IV: One day, Karen Trone dropped by to ask me if I’d be interested in digging up some siberian iris from an elderly woman’s home here in town. Karen had spotted the beautiful purple irises growing in her yard and stopped to ask if she could dig up one for her yard. An elderly woman, Mrs. Mabry, answered the door and shared her sad story of having to move out of her home because of health reasons. The bulldozer would be flattening the house soon, in hopes of selling the land. She was delighted that another “yard person” would want to rescue her plants and enjoy them as much as she had over the years. We went back, visited awhile and then we started digging. Karen and I were spotting anything in bloom! I dug up a hydrangea, Rose of Sharon, wild roses and iris. Here’s what started it all:
Chapter V: And last, but not least, here’s the only plant in our yard that bloomed when we moved in… a 40+ year old camellia:
Since moving in to our circa 1911 home a few years ago, we’ve added hundreds of blooming shrubs and flowers for someone to enjoy… one day when I’m history!
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
10 Reasons Why I Hate Heat (defined as anything above 83 degrees):
1. It makes me sweat
2. It means that summer is here
3. It often requires extra showers (see #1)
4. It shrivels my plants (no matter how much I water!)
5. Summer attire is required (I prefer the kind of attire that covers as much of my body as possible)
6. Other women (usually around size 6 and addicted to Coppertone) wearing their summer attire
7. It forces me to do more inside the house rather than the outside
8. I turn into a frizz bomb
9. Heat = Summer = Muggy = Mosquitoes. Need I say more?
10. Bees and fire ants are out in full force. I’m allergic to both
Needless to say, I am so not a lover of summer. I prefer seasons that are not extremely hot or cold. I’m convinced heaven will be Fall-like weather forever. And summer? Well, we know where that season will go.
Just about every morning you’ll find me watering and deadheading flowers. The term “deadheading” may sound brutal, but it simply means to snip off the flowers that have finished blooming.
