Last week I introduced brief information about my Hillert Family which is from my mother’s side. Myself and my cousins are what I would call “second generation born in America”. You see, my grandparents immigrated to America in the early 1900’s, three years apart. Their oldest child, my Aunt Natalie, was born in Germany; she was three years old when she accompanied grandma for their voyage here to join my grandpa. He had already established himself in Saginaw, Michigan working for a railway company as a mechanic. The cousins I mentioned who attended lunch–Arnie and Otto–are her two children. They are the oldest in our cousin group and they have a sister who I haven’t seen in many years.

When writing a book, each chapter tells a different aspect of the story. Once my grandparents were reunited, living on Saginaw’s east side of the river, they had six more children. My mother was the “baby of the family”. I loved hearing her tell me about her sister Natalie, she adored her. Natalie died the year I was born. I was only a few months old at the time my parents took me to her home so she could “meet me”. I grew to love this aunt through my mother’s memories and now, as I’m with Arnie and Otto, their beautiful recollections of their mother are helping me to grow even fonder.

Another chapter in our book, describes my Aunt Kate. She’s the mother of Will and Barbara, who still live in Saginaw. Kate met Uncle Bill in the 40s, after the war had ended. Often, my parents entertained them in their first home as a married couple and when dad drove Kate home, she asked to be dropped off a few blocks away, never fully explaining why other than saying “I prefer to walk the rest of the way”. Kate was meeting Bill in secret, living in fear if their relationship was discovered. Uncle Bill was from the deep south and his skin was as black as coal. Soon, their relationship turned from merely dating to marriage. The union was accepted by my grandparents….my mother’s siblings were split concerning their own ideals. Fortunately, as I look back on all those years, I had parents who accepted Kate and Bill’s courageous decision to marry. As a child I can remember going to their home and playing with Will and Barbara. I can even recall telling my neighborhood friends “I have cousins who are black” and they didn’t believe me.

I wish I could tell you that Kate and Bill’s time as husband and wife was perfect. It wasn’t. Living during the 50s through the 70s weren’t the most welcoming times for what we always called an “inter-racial” marriage. I don’t know all their challenges or heartaches, but my reconnection with Will, Barbara, and Will’s children, have allowed me, have shown me that much love and tools for living as a good person were taught to them, exactly as I was raised.

During one of my visits to Saginaw, I had time to sit alone with Will and Barbara and we talked about their lives, their ethnicity … .two individuals born of a black father and a white German mother. Both my cousins have complexions that are very light brown. Barbara looks more Hispanic and Will actually could pass as mediterranean. It’s interesting how God takes genes and creates something beautiful no matter the color on the palate. Another beauty of our rekindled relationships is our ability to ask hard questions such as “what was it like having parents such as yours?” “Tell me about the prejudices you have endured.” Their answers were raw, honest, and eye opening, often under tears that welled up as I listened. In spite of their experiences, I’d honestly say that they aren’t bitter, except Barbara. Her hurts have left some lingering wounds that only God can heal and hopefully feeling new found love from family she hasn’t seen in years. 

Now, when those of us who are able to gather around a big lunch table, we are getting reacquainted. We are trying to fill in the gaps carved out from empty years of being apart from each other. We hug and kiss one another on the cheek, me reaching up to my six foot second cousin Brandon…telling each other “I love you” as we say our goodbyes. 

I think back to Aunt Kate meeting Uncle Bill “in secret”, the man she chose to love, doing so at risk of disapproving eyes. I contrast that to us Hillert cousins opening embracing one another during a lunchtime date. Some of us are very fair complected while others are quite dark. One set of genes traveled an ocean from Europe. The other set of genes possibly came from another continent in past generations. Africa? I don’t have a clue, but nonetheless that DNA is present. We are unique and we are loving and the best part? We don’t need to connive to meet in secret and no one has ever given us a second glance or questioned our relationship, obvious differences and all.

I think my parents would be proud. I think Aunt Kate and Uncle Bill would be happy, too. I’m thankful for my parents who raised me to love my family and I’m grateful for the courage of Kate and Bill who gave me some pretty cool people to enjoy life with!

At their last home she and grandpa lived in, she continued to have a variety of small garden areas for flowers and vegetables. Grape vines lined the border of the driveway, berry bushes crowded an area outside the front door to their small home. Fruit trees provided ample goods for fresh pies and jams also providing for great climbing when we visited on Sunday afternoons. A small greenhouse stood in the back of their home and I can still smell the dirt in my lungs, and see all the new plants on crude benches. Next to Jesus and love of family, anything a garden could produce brought sheer joy to my grandmother’s humble heart.

By the time all the children were out of the home, years of early mornings on the family farm and late nights spent in prayer for her family, began to take a toll on grandma’s health, especially her eyes. Slowly, her vision began to blur, even behind glasses. Her aging body moved more slowly now and walking on uneven ground was a concern to grandpa. So, he got her a little brown pup to become a companion to be her “eyes” and “steady her feet”. Fitting to his color, they named him “Brownie” and though he never attended obedience school or any other formal training, somehow Brownie “knew” his purpose. Whenever grandma went outside to check on plants, to walk among her flower beds, he was right by her side, quick to keep her steady or even chase off a rabbit or snake.

Brownie’s love for grandma, his dedication to her, causes me to ponder that everyone needs people in their lives who come alongside us. Some may be part of our lifetime, others enter for brief stretches in order to meet a need or teach a lesson.

I’ve been fortunate to have a variety of mentors in my own life, those individuals who God placed in my path for wonderful reasons. I think of Verne, a choir director I sang under at my home church in Saginaw. I was in my early 20’s when he began directing our adult choir and he recognized my “voice” and asked me to consider solo work, which I quickly said “no”. I’ll never forget when he said to me “Let me take you to lunch and talk about why you need to be performing solo work”. I clearly remember thinking “at least I’ll get a nice free lunch”. But Verne and God. In the course of under 60 minutes Verne prodded and poked through my fears and excuses and I agreed to give solo work a try. Those first attempts brought out nerves I didn’t know I had, proved that I could perform without throwing up (even though I wanted to) and gave me another outlet for worship and praising God.

When we moved to Fowlerville, I met Janet at the first church we attended. She invited me to a women’s Bible study, took me under her wings so-to-speak and invested countless hours of her own time to call me, invited me to Christian functions, ask me hard questions, and most importantly, taught me how to pray with more confidence and faith through some hard times in her life and mine.

“Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of a friend springs from their heartfelt advice.”  Proverbs 27: 9

What a simple beautiful verse from Proverbs that allows me to visualize grandma on a daily stroll in the gardens of her backyard…smelling all the fragrances from blooming flowers and ripening berries…the joy she was feeling in the moment…feeling secure in her Savior’s love and the protection of a little brown dog.

Grandma died when I was 14. Gramp lived for a while in that last small home they shared together until health concerns caused him to move in with one of my aunts. Brownie went to live on an uncle’s small gentleman’s farm in Millington where he was able to live out his last few years lazing on the lawn or wandering through the barn. Old age caused him to slow down, too, something every living creature experiences. He had lived out his purpose and when it came time, he, too, was given final rest. 

Verne died a few years ago, quite unexpectedly. Sadly, I’ve lost track of Janet. Though they are no longer part of my daily life, the lessons, encouragement and memories from their friendship still remain strong in my memories and endearing to my heart. Their “heartfelt advice” has grown a garden of faith I embrace every day.

Last week I wrote about my woes concerning my annual attempt at having a few small vegetable plants to enjoy fresh produce from “dirt to table” so-to-speak. So far, the majority of my plants are still thriving under days of heat and rain. I’ve had–and continue to have–a bountiful harvest of dill. Those voluntary plants are turning out to be the best producers and will be most welcome in meals this fall and winter. I’m learning how to properly dry herbs, too,  which gives me a great source of joy!

Sitting here to write, nursing an irritating summer cold, I was drawn to my thoughts about my grandmother’s garden. My dad told me that from the time he could remember back to his own childhood, she had her vegetable garden which not only provided fresh food for her meals but also served as a training ground to teach each child responsibilities … .planting, watering, weeding. I recall my dad telling me one time how “Sadie Jewell’s Garden” was the envy of nearby housewives. When paying a visit it wasn’t uncommon for one of the women to compliment grandma on the beauty and health of her garden, always asking “what’s your secret, Sadie?” I can hear her soft gentle voice reply “Oh, a little manure mixed in the watering bucket every once in a while does the trick….” Dad always laughed when he told that part of the memory. Sure, manure helps plants grow nicely and living on a farm provided a lot of this “free” fertilizer, but he and everyone in the family who knew Sadie knew better. It was her prayers. She was a strong woman of faith who had much to pray about raising 11 children over a span of years. Filling hungry bellies was a need that often went before the Lord during her 2 am prayer time so it was only natural she’d pray over her seedlings as she strolled through the garden.

I also am thinking about another garden, the one we read about in the book of Genesis. I was curious about the number of times God called something He created as “good”. On Day 1 it was “light”. Day 3 He called dry land and seas and plant life “good”. Light and darkness came on Day 4. Birds and fish came on Day 5. Day 6 gave us living creatures on the earth and His declaration that “everything” He had made was Good. In fact, in verse 31 of Chapter 1 he expanded His pleasure by calling all He had made as “very good”. The only thing He didn’t call “good” was that man (Adam) should not be alone, so He created a woman to be his mate. 

I love the simplicity of reflecting on a beautiful memory from my dad’s own childhood about his mother’s vegetable garden. I marvel at the beauty and complexity of God’s own garden which He created in six days. Both gardens took time, needed tending, and both were considered “good”. God’s garden became a lush home for our first family, providing them everything they needed. My grandmother’s garden was very small in comparison to Eden, nonetheless God saw her efforts, heard her prayers for a bountiful harvest, and honored her with “goodness” from hands that toiled, lugged buckets of water, sometimes with a little manure mixed in….so she could stand back, wipe dirty hands in her apron and declare “my, my, my, ain’t that a beautiful sight to see?”  as she gazed at pumpkin plants, beans, corn, tomatoes, potatoes….all grown with small helping hands and a lot of early morning prayers.

The 4th of July is now behind us and for me I’ve always thought of it as marking the halfway point through summer in regard to time between school years, vacations yet to be taken, and waiting for gardens to begin producing their bounty for fresh eating or preservation. Admittedly, I’m an adequate to moderate gardener. Each year I look forward to working up the soil in our raised beds and an area behind our garage that is suitable for tomato plants and squash. I get excited when my little seeds begin to pop through the dirt and starter plants begin to flourish. On those mornings that aren’t too hot, I water and weed where needed.  And I continue to wait for the plants to grow.

This year we have our usual tomato plants along with two squash from seeds I saved from last fall. They’re doing quite nicely. We also enjoy green bell peppers and green beans so those were planted as well. This year I found kohlrabi at a local nursery which I put in between the beans and peppers. Beets are slowly germinating, radishes have done very well with each planting. Voluntary dill plants have crowded out the lettuces in our hot bed but I’m not complaining. When something reseeds I am most pleased! I even found a potato plant that sprouted behind the garage and is now quite the clump of foliage so I’m anticipating a nice little bucket of potatoes come late summer early fall.

I love the bounty of gardens. I don’t like weeds–who does–and I get downright frustrated with critters who get in and enjoy themselves from the fruit of MY labor. This is especially true for flowers and shrubs we have as perennials in our yard. The deer ate every bud on lily plants. They chomped on hostas as well as the day lilies next to our front porch. Also showing signs of total destruction is a moonflower shrub under bedroom windows. Each stem looks like a pair of hedge clippers went through to “top off” each one at the same height. A few weeks ago “someone” pulled out a geranium from its pot along with several smaller plants next to it. Two bird feeders have been stolen, not having been found!

As much as I want to, I cannot control the creatures that come visit our yard to see what’s currently on the menu. So, when I see any destruction, I take my moment to breathe a heavy sigh and see what I can do to continue trying to grow a few fresh vegetables. I take solace in the fact that my few plants didn’t break the budget to purchase and there’s always my favorite plan B–shop at local farmers’ markets for the produce I love and enjoy. (I can’t imagine the level of despair and concern small farmers endure at the mercy of critters who invade!)

My seemingly feeble attempts to garden remind me of being under God’s care. Years ago He planted a seed of faith in me that needed to be tended, watered, fed, and nurtured. As my master gardener, He has and continues to provide all that I need in order to maintain healthy growth and ward off all “weeds” of sin or attacks from satan. He has given me His Word, which is the Bible. He gifted me with the Holy Spirit to guide, teach, correct, and bring life to my flesh when it is tired, worn out, heavy laden with concerns. Unlike me who is unable to see “who” is coming to munch on my garden plants, He is all knowing and sees everything, fully aware of any weapon being formed against me and He is faithful to place a shield of protection around me.

Does the Bible have anything to say about gardening? It does: Read what Isaiah has to say in verse 11 of chapter 58: The LORD will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.”

This week I reached a dry patch for about 48 hours. My soul needed refreshment and encouragement. To keep from drying up or giving up I did a few things. First, I stayed connected to God by reading scripture and listening to solid teaching. I reached out to a trusted friend and asked her to pray for me, admitting how I was feeling and the whys behind the dampened emotions. Consequently, like plants looking more vibrant after a good watering, my emotions leveled out again, replaced by renewed joy.

Any good gardener knows that our plants and flowers need diligent attention. So it is with our spiritual growth, our emotional well being. Left alone, we will dry up. We may even be swallowed up by the weeds of life that will crouch and overtake if not properly removed. I leave you with this final thought from Psalm 104:14-21: 

“You cause the grass to grow for the cattle, and plants for people to use, to bring forth food from the earth, and wine to gladden the human heart, oil to make the face shine, and bread to strengthen the human heart”. 

I love that the Bible has verses about gardening to encourage me and you. It’s time to water my small garden!