Many years ago I wrote a booklet called “Life in the Garden: Why Golf may be more important than you think”.
But the irony of me loving the Garden metaphor is that I have always hated to ‘work’ in the garden. I never saw my dad mow the yard, so I grew up thinking that was not for me either. My mother made me work in the yard but I hated every minute of it, and probably did a bad job on purpose hoping she wouldn’t ask me again.
I like to play in the garden called a golf course but I hate to work in the garden called a lawn.
So, when Sue and I moved to a new home in 1999, one reason I loved that place was a man name Charles. We inherited him as our yard guy. He was an amazing expert gardener. He didn’t just mow the lawn. He treated the plants and flowers and shrubs like it was his personal garden. He tolerated the Philpots because he Loved our garden. It was one of his personal playgrounds.
He was a Vietnam vet with earrings and more. He was quirky, to put it mildly. But he loved and cared for our garden. So, we tried our best to love and care for Charles.
I soon discovered in friendly chats that he had no use for religion or God-talk of any kind so we avoided that subject. He was quite a lovable character as long as we kept the conversation to the Garden. He also hated lawyers, and I had plenty of stories to confirm he was probably right on that one.
In some ways, Charles was my favorite guy on the earth. He made me look good. Everyone saw our yard and gave me credit for his work! Sue called him a ‘genius’ which I know she has never called me.
After many years, we heard Charles might be sick. Maybe a brain cancer. Maybe serious. We didn’t see him for a few weeks. He sent someone else to do the yard. We heard the end was near.
Sue kept telling me, and she was right, ‘you need to go pray with Charles’. But that can be complicated with a person who has clearly said No to all talk about God.
I called his wife to arrange a short visit at the VA hospital. He looked like death so I didn’t stay long. I mentioned how the yard was not looking so good with him not there, which made him smile. He had the special touch.
It was time to go after five minutes. I simply said, “Charles, could I pray for you?”
Loud and clear, he said, “NO”. That was somewhat stunning. I am not sure anyone had ever flat-out refused a prayer.
I quickly followed with, “That’s fine Charles. I just wanted you to know that Heaven is one big Garden. And Jesus sent me here to tell you that He loves you so much and wants you to be there with Him. God needs you to help Him with His Garden.”
Again, clear as a bell from Charles, a stunning statement, “I won’t be there.”
Wow. Never heard that one before either. “I won’t be there.” Those words were ringing in my ears as I touched his hand and mumbled, “Good-bye Charles. Sue and I love you.”
We expected the next news to be a funeral announcement, but instead we heard that Charles was alive and recovering. In fact, two months later he was back to work. As I got home one day from work, Charles was driving away, having mowed the lawn and dug up some flowers. He looked thin and weak but he smiled through his car window.
“Hey, Tim. Wanda tells me I might owe you an apology.”
“Why would that be?”
“Well, she says I wasn’t very nice to you in the hospital.”
I reached through the car window, touched his shoulder and simply said, “Charles, I knew you were in a lotta pain and on a lotta medicine that day. I just wanted to make sure you know that Heaven is a big Garden and Jesus loves you and needs you to help Him with His Garden.”
This time, Charles didn’t know what to say. He just nodded and smiled and said again he was sorry if he wasn’t nice to me. “Charles, no sweat man. Don’t forget. Jesus needs you in his Garden.”
He smiled and drove off. It was the last time I saw him. He died a few weeks later. I still don’t know if he made it to God’s Garden.
I do know this, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners”, so I choose to believe that our merciful God may have heard a simple prayer, perhaps even a silent one. Maybe something like this, “Well God. Please forgive me. If you really need me, I can help you that that Garden of yours.” I like to think that if Charles could ask me to forgive him, maybe he did the same with our merciful God. Amen. Let it be so.
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