30/08/2026
Who Will Become the Shade?
"We celebrate what blooms, but disciples of Christ are called to remain when the leaves begin to wither."
The Garden Path
Like a gentle whisper
I stepped upon the path
that wound beside the garden.
Not long ago,
these tiny plants stood rejoicing,
their little hands filled with flowers,
offering colour to the morning,
lifting their faces to the light.
We admired them then.
We paused along the path,
speaking of their beauty,
delighting in their bloom,
our hearts made glad
by their abundance.
But now I saw them again.
Their hands of leaves, once open,
were withered beneath a merciless sun,
curled into themselves,
dry as forgotten prayers,
crumbling into dust
at the touch of a finger.
My heart recoiled.
What suffering had been dealt
to these silent, helpless plants
by those entrusted with their care.
How swiftly neglect can undo
what patient love has built.
How a careless thought,
or a lazy hand,
can cripple what was painstakingly grown.
And what struck me most
was the contrast.
When they bloomed,
our joy was untold.
But when the unyielding light descended,
when fierce heat beat upon their tender leaves,
no one stepped forward
to become a shade.
No sheltering hand.
No watchful eye.
No timely cup of water.
The same plants that once drew admiration
now suffered alone.
How heartbreaking that truth is.
We celebrate what blooms,
yet often abandon what withers.
We gather around success,
but draw back from weakness.
We rejoice in fruitfulness,
but shrink from the cost of sustaining life.
And as I stood there,
I thought of us.
For this is our human folly:
We wander from the Father's care,
while He never ceases from His work.
The Son who came down among us said,
"My Father is working still,
and I too am working."
If He who sustains the stars,
feeds the sparrow,
clothes the lily,
and upholds the whole creation
were to fold His hands and sit idle,
what ruin would engulf the world?
Yet His hands are never still.
The Father's care does not fade
when leaves begin to wither.
His love does not diminish
when strength gives way to weakness.
He remains.
He waters.
He tends.
He restores.
And so He calls us,
His disciples,
to share in that sacred labour:
the work entrusted by the Father to the Son,
and by the Son to those who follow Him.
Take up the cross, He says.
Not merely to carry it,
but to let it bear fruit.
Let its wood become shelter.
Let its wounds become mercy.
Let its weight become strength
for another weary soul.
Let me be a shade
in another's burning noon.
Let me be water
in another's drought.
Let me remain
when the flowers have fallen
and the leaves have lost their brightness.
For love is proven
not by rejoicing at the bloom,
but by remaining faithful
when the leaves begin to wither.
And let no hand wither
because I failed to care.
Let no life thirst
because I withheld the living water.
Let no tender thing perish
through my indifference.
For the Father works still,
the Son works still,
and blessed are the hands
that join their labour
until the garden blooms again.
