God's voice has talked to me in the branches of the sunlit apricot tree filled with fruit. I lose my little worries among the winds at play and the rustling of the trees and the singing of the birds and the humming of the bees. My foolish fears vanish among the sweet smelling soil and new-mown lawn. Bad thoughts die and good ones are born out in the garden with God. They grow things.
Gardeners are people who grow things.
Whatever we do, we garden. When you sit at a computer, you are gardening with words and sentences. When you sit at a piano, you are gardening with notes and silences. When you cook at a stove, you are gardening with vegetables and spices. When a husband and wife lie in bed, they are gardening with glands and genes and grace.