A gardener, in the image of God

Genesis tells us that we were made in the image of God. Some days, I have a lot of trouble with that concept. I struggle with forgiveness, and He doesn't. I can't remember people's names, and He knows every sparrow, every hair on our heads.

But today, anyway, I'm OK with the idea that we have some connected lineage. We both like gardens. God was the original gardener: He created the soil, the rain, the sun. He made the first garden -- and set up one simple rule. But we're not very good at following His rules. Thank goodness for His forgiveness.

There's no apple trees in my plot at the Prescott Valley Community Garden. Typical Arizona garden: tomatoes, peppers, onions. Salsa, anyone? Then a few carrots, yellow and green beans, zucchini squash, and some lettuce and Brussels sprouts that may or may not take hold. A coleus and some orange nasturtiums for color.

It wouldn't be my garden without a few garden props. A cardinal that represents my mom, who taught me the value of a garden. A snail, one of the things my sister collected. It's a family garden, after all.

I love to watch plants burst through the soil. The moist warm earth signals them that it's OK to sprout. And they push their way upward, sometimes with cute little seed cover hats. I can't help but hum Peter, Paul and Mary's "Garden Song" as I watch the tomatoes and peppers blossom, and the rows of beans grow bushy.

But where did those weeds come from? I scattered good seeds in the fertilized and worked soil. Then, among the new plants, crabgrass and some ubiquitous vine that comes up everywhere start filling in the spaces between the rows. Truth be told, there's almost no difference between my garden plants and the weeds; the plants are the ones I like, and the weeds are the ones I dislike.

Maybe the Lord felt the same way about weeds. He spoke to the fisherman about the things they knew, and the gardeners about that which they knew. He knew about thistles, and probably crabgrass and vines and alfalfa. Gardens need tending. The good stuff doesn't grow well if it is choked out by weeds.

On the other hand, in the right place, those weeds are cattle fodder. The ranchers encourage the alfalfa and even buy alfalfa hay. I have no use for alfalfa, but in the right hands, this clover grass raises grass-fed cattle. A peaceful verdant pasture with purple flowers. Something I have no use for ends up as a useful tool in another's garden. Another lesson about the diverse gifts of others.

Today I will gauge the moisture in the soil that is benefiting from the monsoon rain's early arrival. I will carefully remove the grass and vines and look for the ripening fruit. I will share some of my first fruits with those who hunger in our community. And enjoy the rest that gardens provide.