{"id":236,"date":"2012-05-17T05:00:00","date_gmt":"2012-05-17T05:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/79eb9aaf-9c0d-4653-857b-4fe4d0bcd394"},"modified":"2012-05-17T05:00:00","modified_gmt":"2012-05-17T05:00:00","slug":"the-fable-of-the-two-gardeners","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/?p=236","title":{"rendered":"The Fable of the Two Gardeners"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Fable of
\nthe Two Gardeners<\/span><\/p>\n

By Joseph
\nAnthony<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

Inspired by
\nEmmet Fox<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

Once upon a
\ntime there was a wise gardener planting flower bulbs in his garden.  As he worked, he sang; as he sang, each bulb
\nseemed to glow in his hands as he nestled it into the cool, moist earth.  Every day he planted bulbs, for he desired a
\ngarden of flowers that would spread for miles. 
\nSome days his back ached from all the bending and digging.  Some days he even complained about his aches
\nand pains. Mostly however, he planted bulbs and sang, loving the blossoms that
\nhad already bloomed and looking ahead in child-like expectation to the ones that
\nwould sprout in the future\u2014expectation\u2014not impatience.  For he would plant the bulbs and move on,
\nknowing, trusting that the earth, the sun, the rain, and the One had a plan for
\neach and every bulb.  The bulbs would
\nbreak through in their own sweet, perfect time-most often unexpectedly, most
\noften when he had forgotten planting them; most often when others were there to
\nnotice and had to point them out to him and he would laugh with surprise.   People
\ncame from far and wide to stroll through his garden.  It was indeed a beautiful site\u2014paradise.  And the butterflies and the bees?  For them it was heaven.  To the toads and the praying mantis, the
\nhummingbirds, and the sun and the moon, it was also a place to call home.  Yes the sun and the moon loved spending time
\nin his flower garden.  They loved shining
\ndown upon it, gazing at the riot of colors and infinite variety of the shapes
\nof the blooms.  The stars would look down
\nupon his flowers by the light of the moon, and love them so much they would
\nweep tears of joy that could be found shimmering on the petals and leaves every
\nmorning.  And the wise gardener would
\nwork every day, his every movement a dance, and he loved wondering at the
\nwonder of it all, that the Creator could devise such a plan that took homely,
\nroughly honed bundles of hard, dryness and transform them into graceful,
\nslender, exquisitely gorgeous flowers that opened their fragrant faces and
\nhands to the sun\u2014faces and hands that dripped with beauty and ambrosia.  He was most grateful however, for the blubs
\nthemselves.  He knew they were the key to
\nhis lavish and abundant garden.  He
\ncollected bulbs wherever he went.  Everyone
\nhe met he would ask them if they had any bulbs they would like to share\u2014rich people,
\npoor people, smart people, mean people, it did not matter.  If they had bulbs (which everyone did) he
\nwanted to check them out.  Of course
\nsometimes someone would offer him a bulb that he didn\u2019t want, and sometimes he\u2019d
\ntake it only to later toss it on the roadside on his way home; other times he
\nwould politely say, \u201cNo thank you,\u201d tip his hat, and be on his way.  Mostly he collected all that were offered,
\nfor you never knew exactly what sort of flower a bulb might produce, especially
\nif the giver didn\u2019t know what it was or where he had acquired it.  The wise gardener loved these mystery bulbs
\nthe best, where each blossom was a wonderful surprise.  He collected large flower bulbs and tiny
\nones, old ones and new.  And with each
\nbulb he gathered and planted, he whispered a prayer of thanks.  The prayer would weave its way through his
\nsong, mingle with the sweat from his brow, and travel down right through his
\ndirty, loving hands into the earth, and the earth would sing it back in the
\nform of the blossoms.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

Next door
\nthere lived another gardener.  He did not
\nlike waiting for the blubs to grow, so he would steal fully grown flowers from
\nhis neighbor, enjoy their beauty for a few moments, praise them, wonder at
\nthem, and then plant them\u2014blossom, leaves, and stem\u2014right in the ground.  He would then watch and wait for a bulb to
\nsprout up, for he often heard his wise neighbor saying that the bulbs were the
\nsecret to his successful garden.  Bulbs
\nnever sprouted however.  And after a while
\nhe would walk away shaking his head, blaming his neighbor, cursing the sun and
\nthe flowers themselves, hating the never-appearing bulbs, and wondering why his
\ngarden never bloomed like his wise neighbor\u2019s. 
\n<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

The wise
\nneighbor would watch the impatient gardener, in fact he knew he was stealing his
\nflowers, but he never really thought they were his own property to begin with,
\nso he didn\u2019t mind.  When the impatient
\ngardener wasn\u2019t looking (which was often) the wise gardener would creep in and
\nplant a few bulbs here and there, and then quietly sneak away.  When they finally bloomed, the impatient
\ngardener (if he noticed at all) would stand there with his hands on his hips,
\nscratching his head at the site of freshly blooming flowers in his garden.  He never figured out where they were coming
\nfrom.  As he stood there perplexed he
\ncould hear his neighbor singing through the labyrinth of flowers he had created,
\nand he would spit on the ground and go sulk in his dark and gloomy house.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

One day the
\nimpatient gardener had enough.  Why wasn\u2019t
\nhis garden blooming like his neighbor\u2019s? 
\nHe stomped over to speak with the wise gardener but when he got there he
\ncouldn\u2019t find him anywhere.  Only the
\nbright morning sun, the bees and a few butterflies were there dancing among the
\nflowers.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHave you
\nseen the wise gardener?\u201d he asked a bumblebee hovering nearby.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s gone,\u201d
\nbuzzed the bee.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGone?\u201d the
\nimpatient gardener said in surprise.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe found a
\npiece of weed-infested land a few towns over and he felt called to begin a new flower
\ngarden there.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut what
\nwill happen to this garden?\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt will
\nlast for generations, for it is filled with perennials and countless bulbs yet
\nto sprout.  Of course,\u201d continued the bee
\nwhirring around to face the impatient gardener, \u201cIt could use tending every now
\nand then, and it could use some new bulbs, sweat, and songs.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell don\u2019t
\nlook at me,\u201d the impatient gardener huffed.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not
\nlook at you?\u201d came a sudden chorus of a thousand voices\u2014butterflies, bees,
\ntoads, the praying mantis, birds, and the flowers themselves all joined in, \u201cWhy
\nnot look at you?  You\u2019ve always wanted a
\ngarden like this.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

The
\nimpatient gardener hung his head in shame. \u201cIt\u2019s not mine,\u201d he whispered, \u201cI
\nnever did anything to help it grow.  In
\nfact, I stole from it.  I do not deserve
\nsuch grace.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cChild,\u201d
\nsaid the Queen Bee just arriving in their midst, \u201cwhen the wise gardener
\nplanted this garden the land and flowers, the bulbs, and the sun and rain\u2014none of
\nit belonged to him.  Grace isn\u2019t
\nsomething to be deserved, it is simply to be accepted, in the same way you
\naccept the light from the sun.  The only
\ndifference between you two is that he was willing to work and wait, while you
\nwere not.  And yet, in your own way you
\nwere waiting working, you had secret bulbs planted in your heart\u2014everyone does–that
\nached for a new way, that longed to see the light of day and to be shared, and
\nhere you are\u2014you came here asking for help.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo?\u201d said the
\nimpatient gardener not yet understanding.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo?\u201d said
\nthe Queen Bee, \u201cthe bulbs in your heart have bloomed.  You are ready to grow your own garden, to
\nshare your own kind of beauty.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut that\u2019s just
\nit,\u201d he said, \u201cthis isn\u2019t my garden.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOnce you
\nstart working it, planting and weeding, it will become yours, and of course, it
\nisn\u2019t really yours, it belongs to everyone, and most especially to the One.  You will be its caretaker.\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

The
\nimpatient gardener stood there, tears forming in his eyes. He stretched out his
\nhands as if to show how empty they were. 
\nAnd as he stood there, butterflies landed on his arms and shoulders,
\nbirds fluttered around him, wiping his tears with their wings, the flowers
\nbegan swaying and dancing, the bees formed a ring of thrumming, buzzing life
\naround him, toads peeped little peeps of encouragement, and the sun looked down
\nand smiled. And stood in the center of it all, and wept.<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

And when
\nfinally he could speak, he asked, \u201cwhat should I do?\u201d<\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGet to work,\u201d
\nhummed the Queen kindly, \u201cand start singing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n<\/p>\n

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Fable of the Two Gardeners By Joseph Anthony Inspired by Emmet Fox Once upon a time there was a wise gardener planting flower bulbs in his garden.  As he worked, he sang; as he sang, each bulb seemed to glow in his hands as he nestled it into the cool, moist earth.  Every day […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[11,16],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/236"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=236"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/236\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=236"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=236"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thewonderchildblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=236"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}