The Gardener

D came to school with many strikes against him. One of his father’s 19 children, drugs in his system when he was in the womb, a birth mother with mental health issues, and way too much explicit knowledge for a child of five. To top it off, he had severe hyperactivity, inability to focus, and sensory and fine motor issues.

He was a tornado, a circus clown and a puppy on caffeine all crammed into a wiry little five-year-old body. He had a heart of gold and was a phenomenal dancer, but there was little else in his plus column.

His was the artwork you could spot on the hallway bulletin board – you know the one – the owl with the wings sticking out of its head; the valentine heart that looked more like a hexagon. Schoolwork was completely exhausting and frustrating and he got very used to missing his daily five minutes of recess for interrupting the lesson.

He was fascinated by the plants on the windowsill and eagerly awaited his turn to have the job of Gardener. The Gardener had the oh-so-important responsibility of watering the two houseplants, the pitiful avocado seed which never did sprout, and the big tub of pumpkin plants that bloomed for months but never once produced a pumpkin. This job was D’s dream and finally one day as he went to put his name on the helper chart, to the delight of his wiggly little heart, the Gardener job was open!

He flipped and danced and bounced his way to the watering can and I (in a moment of educator ignorance) carried on with our morning routine as if all chaos was not about to break loose. His ping-ponging around the room was so familiar to all of us that neither I nor his classmates noticed exactly how many trips he’d made from the sink to the window (nor did we see the pools of water on the floor all along his trail), until one observant little voice called out, “Miss McMillan! There’s water dripping!”

I looked over to see D kneeling on the counter, faithfully pouring water into the pumpkin plants as Niagara Falls flowed over the side of the tub and straight into the heater below.

A surprised “Oh!” escaped my lips and he looked up and saw my face before I could compose myself. His posture slumped from confidence to shame and his expressive face declared, “Oh no! I’ve failed! And I was so sure I was doing it right.”

I grabbed a bucket and some paper towels, fully aware that his fragile little spirit was far more important than those fragile little plants.

As we mopped up and dipped water out of the oceans surrounding the plants, I reassured him that he really was an excellent Gardener and that next time he’d maybe use just a little less water. He perked up at the words “Next time,” and nodded as I showed him just how much water the itty-bitty plants needed (which I obviously should have done initially).

I hugged him and reassured him that he’d be a fabulous Gardener. Sure enough, from that point on, he was their faithful caretaker – noticing every detail about the plants and alerting us to any new bloom or dead leaf (usually in the middle of quiet deskwork). Even the other students recognized his authority – asking him for help when it was their turn to be Gardener.

D is the embodiment to me of the verse that says “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart…” And he puts me to shame. I don’t always throw myself heart and soul into the tasks my Father lays before me on a daily basis. But just think how it would thrill His heart if I did. If He had to tell me, “Woah! Hang on! Slow down! You’ve gone too far!” instead of having to coax me into trusting Him with tiny little steps of faith. I’m looking forward to the someday when I will step out with abandon; serving, loving, and sacrificing with all the faithfulness of my dear little Gardener.