Raised Gardens, Fallen Hopes

If you were going to pick any tree in a vast forest to personify my father it would be the tallest, sturdiest, most faithful tree you could find.  His roots go deep.  His shade is wide.  He covers many. 

Now cancer has its horrible grip on our beloved tree - the one we all depend on - and we don't know what to do.  He's a very special tree you see.  He doesn't bend in the wind, but remains strong, steadfast, unshakable, unmovable.  We love this tree.   So much.

This past week, my family underwent yet another pet project in one of their favorite pastimes - home improvement.  They constructed raised gardens.  Much time and care went into the design of these raised gardens.  My dad called me the day before his scheduled surgery to remove his tumor to tell me about them.  "You really should see it," he said, "It's very different looking" and proceeded to tell me about the team of non-English speaking landscapers who were diligently leveling the ground, spreading mulch, and erecting the handmade cedar walls under his watchful and discerning eye.  These clever contraptions actually raise the soil level to make a backbreaking job more enjoyable, with the added benefit of giving plants more room to take root and grow in plush, tilled soil. 

This project epitomizes my dad.  Take something good, like a garden in the sun drenched spot close to the house perimeter, and make it better...  by giving it a better chance of getting clipped and pruned by our soon- to- be- hard- at- work mother.   It accomplishes two of his favorite goals.  Make something that is good, better, through intuitive design.  And put our mom to work! (lol)  Plus it would be his last gallant grasp at industrious activity before his eight weeks of bedridden recovery.  So, he was thinking ahead.

The following day after those raised gardens were set in place, our hopes for a fast and full recovery fell.    We were told our dad's surgery was canceled due to his tumor's growth.      

Our beloved tree remains unshaken.  The center of our garden.  The tree with a root structure that keeps all of the rest of us from eroding and washing away.   As hard as the wind blows and the storm rages, our beloved tree does not bow.  But, our hopes have fallen.  We need a team of Mexicans working overtime to level our fears, build up our optimism, and raise our hope.  

Please pray for my dad as he fights this storm.  We raise him in prayers, faith, love and God's grace.  He is the wind beneath our wings when we need to fly.  The unwavering branch when we need something to hold onto.  And the constant true north in our lives.