A friend in his mid-20's made time to help us in the garden last week. My perennial bed perennially suffers from lack of attention. He dug up the Japanese anemone too close to the front that unexpectedly hid from view the Canterbury bells and Jacob's ladder. We divided the huge healthy plant so I could share with friends and then planted it further back. The hollyhocks and hibiscus now also seemed out of place and he put his back into digging them. While he cut down corn stalks, I transplanted shorter plants-campanulas and petite foxgloves-to the front. I even got an out-of-place purple cornflower and some yarrow back where they belonged. What an amazing hour! Although the ornamental grasses still so overshadowed the spigot that watering the plants meant scraped-up arms, I was more than satisfied.

As we sat at the picnic table later eating our traditional Sunday evening popcorn and ice cream treats, I wondered if I should give up on the climbing rose on the trellis partition next to us. The woman who sold it to me--maybe a decade ago--had boldly declared that traditional roses don't take the time that the newer, fussier brands do. I was wishful enough to believe her. But this rose has never been easy. The shoots of climbing roses need tending several times a week if they are to create the orderly backdrop I desire. Japanese beetles do love them and the dusty white leaves that come from some disease are unappealing. I've sadly given in to spraying but travel enough that I'm not regular at it. Only a few years and a few times those years, were the branches covered with roses while their scent delicately wafted to the table. Just now, there are almost no roses. Maybe I need to fertilize it. Turns out, if I don't keep after this rose a couple times a week, it's just a bunch of sorry looking leaves--and thorns.

That's the case with the entire perennial bed--it needs regular attention. The common phrase, "Don't you wish your flowers came up every year? Perennials do." doesn't acknowledge that perennials come up in the wrong places, need deadheading, grow too big for the garden and, of course, need weeding. Every garden needs attention.

As do relationships. God reminded me of that this morning. I was asking a favor of God, and the reply was along the lines of, "Where have you been lately? I'm not a magic button to push when you need something." No, I need to acknowledge that our relationship needs constant and careful tending. Like a plant needs time-consuming nurturing, my connection to God needs thoughtful attention. The plant doesn't take up its roots and run; neither does God turn away.

Oh, I've prayed. I've even written prayers to share with others. And I've read and studied the Bible and books and magazines that teach me about living a Christian life. But I haven't sat still enough, haven't spent the time listening and paying attention that I know our relationship needs. And God wasn't going to ignore that.

When I walked through the garden this morning, I noticed that many of the plants I moved are not doing well. I'm not sure why. I hadn't paid much attention after transplanting them because it rained heavily the next day and, well, I'd gotten busy. Sometimes uprooted perennials will lose the leaves they had and put up new shoots. Sometimes they're too fussy to be moved and just die. I won't be certain until next spring that a plant won't come back. But that week of neglect certainly didn't give them a fair chance of survival. And it's not the plants' fault, I need to confess, it's mine. They are programmed to respond beautifully to proper living conditions, just as both God and I are programmed for a relationship that takes time.