Day Lilies in Bloom!

The day lilies bloomed today on Layton.

Since the first violets spread across the lawn in April and the forsythia burst into vibrant yellow, each flower in the yard has had its week or two "in the sun" on glorious display. Daffodils peeked through the cold earth, glad to have weathered the last of the frigid temperatures. Then the lily-of-the-valley crept around the backyard with their tiny white bells tinkling silently.

Three delicate pink azalea bushes proclaimed their survival through the bitter winter of the North while the lilacs popped wildly in deep purple and snowy white from overgrown trees bordering the yard. One hung heavily with flowers like a crop of ripe grapes ready for harvest. Their aroma wafted richly around the neighborhood.

No passerby could ignore the rhododendron, the "in-your-face" queen of spring blooms. Each flower the size of a small child's head, the purple-pink handfuls of loveliness dominated the yard's color scheme. Every yard seemed to boast a massive pile of rhodies.

Almost simultaneously, the pink roses joined the peonies in a glorious display. Nestled beside the peonies, testament to my poor planting judgment, the roses outdid themselves this year in size and quantity. The peonies, a last hold out from my grandmother's garden planted over fifty years ago here on Layton, boast a rare maroon shade that is nothing short of breathtaking. The peonies are the flower I await impatiently, perhaps because they represent my grandmother. The Chinese adore the peony. They know and appreciate imperial and royal beauty. Many of their scroll paintings feature peonies; I bought such a scroll on a visit to China, and I enjoy the image of a peony all year.Their beauty in my yard is short-lived. They often succumb to heavy rains that cause the luxurious petals to fall limply. Even the roses paled beside the peonies.

The elephant-ear hosta leaves spread three feet in every direction, a natural tent for my grandsons' hide-and-seek games. Tall shoots, bearing white flowers, begin to climb out of the depths of the hosta to open banner-like in early July. Next to the hosta the astilbe form a defensive front to the encroaching daisies, which cannot be contained. The gentle, pink plumes of the astilbe wave delicately, a driveway border and eye-catcher.

Summer is in full swing. The half-century old tiger lilies return for one more season, another inheritance from my grandmother's garden. The tiny buds on the tomato plants, zucchini, beans and peas look promising. August may bring a sweet harvest.

My gardens leave me in awe. Each year the cycle continues, unchanged, each flower taking the stage at its appointed time. The plan has never varied in my fifty years of observation. I consider the beauty, the constancy, the creativity and imagination in  the making of a flower, and I am convinced yet again of the presence of the Creator and His faithfulness and constancy. The flowers display His character - filled with beauty and goodness, exemplars of supreme creativity. In my garden I stand -  in awe of its Maker.

And today the day lilies bloomed!

And they bloom, as their name obviously suggests, just for a day. In the morning dew I check the garden and there they are - faces upturned, stretching their purple and cream or purplish-rust or neon yellow arms in every direction. Their beauty screams away at the corner of my house all day, demanding attention. But when the sun sets and the cool of night draws over the yard, the day lilies curl up and shrivel away. The next morning they are gone, replaced by the bud further down on the stem which, in its turn, now tilts its face upward and splashes its glory everywhere . . . for a day.

Psalm 144:4 says, "Man is like a breath; his days are like a fleeting shadow." The day lilies remind me that our lives, in the scheme of history, are like a breath, blooming for a day and passing quickly from the earth. Day lilies adapt to various soil and light conditions, can survive in a wide range of climates, are suitable for all landscapes, and even tolerate drought. Are our lives facing the day with the same resilience and strength? Like the other flowers in my yard, the day lily's loveliness is not an accident. The Master Gardener tends His garden with provision and care; the day lily wisely rests in His sovereignty.

For our "moment in the sun," can we rest in our Maker's care? Can we trust Him to bring the sun, the rain, strength and resilience? For our moment in the sun, I pray that we can bloom like the day lily - face upturned, arms stretched in every direction, screaming gloriously a reflection of His beauty from our corner of the yard . . . 

On Layton.

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