Working the Garden

A small plot of land is set aside as our garden in France.  It came with the house and already had a few plants in it: two strawberry bushes, some lilies, and some bulbs that bloom in the spring (we have no idea what they are).  Last year, I planted perennials and wondered what would come back this year.  When we got to Granges, we were told the garden was a mess of weeds, but after pulling out the dandelions (they are massive here) and other weeds, some of the plants were evident.  And even without pulling weeds, two things were immediately obvious: the lavender we planted were healthy and spreading.  And the digitalis--foxgloves--had returned as well. 

The significance of the foxgloves lies in who they represent for the three of us.  A few years ago, our friend and mentor Camille Lievaux came to pick us up in Granges, telling us, "You have to see this--I've never seen anything like it.  Come on--right now, just as you are."  We hopped in the car with him and his wife Lucette, and he took us to a hilltop not far away.  He explained that before the "Storm of 2000" which knocked down entire forests of trees, this area had been completely wooded, but since the storm, it was clear.  As we pulled up, we saw with wonder the reason he was so excited: it was filled with foxgloves, mostly the traditional pink but with some rare white ones mixed in.  Camille, a photographer by trade and never without his camera, took many pictures that day, and a couple of them ended up in one of his books of photographs. 

Camille passed away this past February just shy of his 89th birthday.  So when the foxgloves came up in the garden, full and strong, I saw again the hand of God blessing us and reminding us that we will meet Camille again.  I can only imagine what pictures he is taking now--and the team of basketball players he is coaching!

We visited his wife Lucette this week, and she told us that the foxgloves have never come back to the place we visited that day--it was a one-time event, the rainbow after the storm, and a perfect reminder that God redeems everything, even the "Storm of the Century."