Sowing a legacy of love

I’ve never been a fan of gardening. My memories of summers spent in lower, slower Delaware with my grandparents include hot, sweltering days of pulling weeds in Nana’s garden with one hand while swatting “skeeters” with the other. It wasn’t exactly fun. And yet, my hard-working single mom thought it would be safer for me swatting mosquitos in Delaware than fending for myself back home on the streets of Jamaica, Queens. My mother’s love sent me to Delaware each summer and my grandparent’s love embraced me upon arrival. I genuinely thank God that love has been a constant in my life.

Last week, my wife and I were passing through Delaware on our way to Maryland and we had the opportunity to visit the gravesites of my mom and both of my maternal grandparents. There at that church-side graveyard I was flooded with both memories and reminders. There were wonderful memories of a childhood surrounded by people who loved me and reminders that while I am many years removed from childhood, their love has sustained me over the decades.

Time has passed and things have changed. My wife and I have no more grandparents. We have no more parents. We are now the parents of grown children and grandparents to their children. And yet, with the passage of time, we thank God that the legacy of love continues. Love shapes lives.

As I was writing this column, my phone rang. A member of the church I belong to had just met a woman who was in a desperate place. She was living in her car and in need of support while she awaited housing. The church member called me to see if we could help the woman in any way. A vital connection was made. In a very practical way, this woman was reminded that God loves her and that He has not forgotten her. We were able to plant that seed in her heart, by God’s grace and our own intervention, her change is about to come. Love changes trajectories.

In these days of pandemic-related uncertainty and unprecedented threats to our very existence from a multitude of sources, love must be presented to the world as a stabilizing force. We have a responsibility to convey the love of God within our own households and beyond. Love is a shared responsibility.

On our journey through Delaware to Maryland we noticed how much further along the spring foliage was as compared to here in southern New England. It proved to be yet another reminder. I was reminded that we can count on God to orchestrate change. Before we saw the signs of it, we knew that spring was coming. The constancy of God’s love brings welcomed change.

Quincy Jones had it lyrically correct when he penned the words, “Everything must change. Nothing stays the same. Everyone will change. Nothing stays the same.” Times have changed. My life has changed. People I have loved are no longer here, and yet I have new generations to love and to whom I can pass on the legacy. Through it all, God’s love has been a constant.

I started this column stating that I’ve never been fond of gardening. And yet, there’s something about the notion of seeds reproducing after their own kind that has me intrigued. There is something about the miraculous transition from seeds to sprouts, to harvest-bearing plants that overrides the memories of sweltering, skeeter swatting days in my grandmother’s garden. My mind and my heart have been transformed. The connection to my Lord Jesus Christ and my ancestors is overpowering. The love of both has transformed me. It is growing season. There will be a garden this year and by God’s grace, there will be a harvest.

In these days of pandemic-related uncertainty and unprecedented threats to our very existence from a multitude of sources, love must be presented to the world as a stabilizing force.