I grew up in a small town on the banks of the River Severn, surrounded by villages and hamlets of black-&-white timbered houses. Each home had a garden. Most were well ordered, with manicured lawns, small formal beds and an ornamental pond. But one sticks in my mind.

In an old, rambling cottage lived an elderly couple. Their garden, to my young eyes, appeared completely overgrown. At their invitation I wandered along the weathered path that snaked through their wilderness, careful to watch my steps as each flag rocked on its mossy bed. It was a chaotic wonderland of greenery tumbling over the edges of the path. An ancient glass greenhouse sheltered beneath a fruit-laden orchard, while other trees had somehow woven themselves through a crumbling brick wall.

              The garden was crowded with large, flourishing plants. There were trailers, climbers and creepers of every shape, size and colour. Each one bold, gaudy and loud, every shape, size and colour; brimming with life as though they were all talking at once.  

              My mind has returned to that garden many times. Recently it has been in my thoughts as we settle and navigate this new season with its expanding ministry. There are moments when our uneven path feels overcrowded. Riotous, extravagant layers of colour, variety and texture explode before us, growing together seemingly without reason or rhythm.

I used to stop on that garden path and let my eyes explore. Following the colours, I could see where clumps of plants recurred in different places, and I realise now that each was in its place. Graceful hollyhocks bowed their heads alongside scented old roses, lavender and foxgloves. Clematis and honeysuckle climbed boundary walls and tall grasses swayed amongst the trees.

At the height of summer, bees flew busily from flower to flower in search of nectar and pollen. Onions, carrots and potatoes grew in their own scrap of ground, and a large earthen pot of herbs stood hard by. Densely planted, the beautiful, practical and edible dwelt together.

In the years since, I’ve began to understand something of the joyful sense of discovery which time in that garden gave me. It was a mellow place. The plants appeared at ease with one another, flowing together in what looked like an effortless whole.

Today, we take time to stop and observe the layers, rhythms and connections. We sigh, remembering the pain and decay buried in the soil that fed this verdant fruitfulness. Slowly we begin to discern God’s hand. A connection between Europe and Asia blossoms. Fruit is growing across Africa; and a trellis covers a cracked wall in the Middle East which strengthens and supports the weak.

A colourful African prayer meeting, the preaching of the gospel in the Middle East, and women feeding the hungry. This flowering is bold, creative and unique; a beautiful, fluent expression of faith we could never imagine. Our eyes wonder back and forth, trying to take in all we see, but it is impossible. There is such variety, and the growth is densely packed. Awe stills us. Then we take the next step as God grows Himself in us and cultivates His presence across this earth.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2025