If I Could Give You a Marigold

It is late afternoon coffee time for me, a time of ritual for most days when I get home from a day of whatever demands my time and energy. It is a time of quiet, of calm, of reclaiming the peace and presence of the sacred settling in my soul. It is a time, a moment or two that I have been craving all day. And often this late afternoon coffee time finds me on my back deck, listening and watching, breathing and hoping,

Today, what captures my attention most is the amount of growth that my boxes of marigolds have put forth in the last few days.  I noticed them with astonishment! I have two old, faded, weathered boxes, both filled with a variety of marigolds—one box with small bright gold blossoms tinted with maroon edges. These I did not plant this year. These are volunteers from the plants of last summer that bloomed and bloomed and finally died back during the morning frosts of last fall. The other box was planted one day this past June from plants that were on clearance at a local hardware store.  They were kind of puny in the beginning, but I had confidence in them and now, they stand tall for marigolds and shine all day with their bright, big golden heads.

I can tell you that of all the summer flowers it might be difficult for me to pick my favorite. Red geraniums are a symbol of friendship and remind me of the summers when traveling has been a gift to me and I see these red glorious blooms that are planted and cared for all over the world, especially in lovely pots scattered throughout Europe. I always feel like someone planted them just for me, just to welcome me to their little corner of the world. So, every year, I return the favor! I make certain that there are red geraniums in my favorite part of my home—the back deck. I used to think I should put them around front, but I never really go out there and then I realized that even though there are not many people who see my deck, there is always wildlife scattering to and fro as I live on the edge of the woods. The birds must love the blooms. Every morning the deer see them as they make their way to the neighbors’ feeding station. The squirrels and the racoons and the occasional groundhog must know the blooms of friendship are there. And, of course, Arlo, my labradoodle and I enjoy those blooms early in the morning as the sun is just rising over the trees in the woods.

I love petunias too, especially the newer colors of the last few years. Two years ago, I had a big planter of petunias called “Black Magic!” The color was so deeply purple to be almost black. I loved watching them and smelling them throughout the summer. But one thing about petunias is that they get tired toward the end of the summer, and they start to get straggly. They never finish the summer season as fresh and beautiful as they begin the season and that makes me sad. A gardener at a local nursery told me that the secret to keeping petunias beautiful is a special fertilizer that can be mixed in water and applied each week.  But you know what, that feels like cheating to me. So, this year there are no petunias on my back deck.

Another summer plant that can easily take my breath away is the simple coleus.  This simple plant is a member of the mint family and come in so many different combinations of colors. Their bursts of colored leaves are not native to my part of the world and I probably should not love them as much as I do because of that, but I can’t get enough of their color. And for their gifts to me of color they don’t ask for much—some sunlight and some water. They grow and grow all summer, their leaves deepening in the different shades of glorious color, thriving in the heat and offering a special kind of smile to lift the spirits of even the most downcast person that takes the time to notice them. The great surprise of the coleus is that when the autumn winds blow and the frosts come, they thrive indoors and offer beauty through the darkest days of winter. They have small purple blooms that I pinch off through the summer, but not in the winter when they are inside. Those blooms remind me to be resilient!

AnOf course, I love all the other flowers of summer that are not suitable for my back deck. The roses and lilies and hydrangeas and hostas and milkweed and butterflower bushes and sunflowers and so, so many more bring me joy when I am out and about.  I marvel at impatiens and pansies and their colors. The blue chicory and delicate Queen Anne’s lace, along with the daisies and Black-eyed Susans, growing wild along the roadsides, invite pollinators of all kinds to come to a feast. These are all old friends, and I look forward to them each summer and the memories that come back to me.

But it is the marigold that I cannot do without! I love their colors—the oranges and yellows and those who can’t decide which color they want to be, so they show more than one. They discourage pests in gardens without the use of chemicals, and I think that is brilliant!!! Often, when I stand by watching them in the morning light, there are all kinds of tiny creatures, mostly ants or tiny spiders weaving tiny webs, crawling along the brilliant petals. The marigolds don’t mind. It is as if they proclaim, “the more the merrier!”

Marigolds always remind me of a winter long, long ago when I spent some time in India. Marigolds are the national flower of India—at least it feels that way. The blossoms work their ways into all kinds of occasions and celebrations and in rituals that welcome and bid good-bye. The night we reached Bombay (that was a long time ago. Now it is Mumbai) we were greeted by our hosts with garlands of marigolds. I remember gasping because they were so beautiful. I wanted to keep that garland with me, keep it so that I could take it back home with me. Little did I know that first night that everywhere we went in India, we would be presented with garlands of marigolds. I never grew tired of them and each garland seemed more beautiful and precious than the last. Perhaps those small gifts of friendship and feelings that I felt in those days of India are what I really experience every summer when I wait for the blooming of these beautiful gems of God’s beauty and creativity.

Marigolds are not appreciated by everyone, but to those who take the time to spend with these blooms or to discover their history and meaning are always in for a most precious reward. The symbols of marigolds are many and include:

• The beauty and warmth of the rising sun
• Creativity
• Holiness and sacrament 
• Grief 
• Friendship
• Good cheer
• Promise

Perhaps to me, most of all, marigolds are prayers and a connection to the Holy One. To see a marigold, to really notice it, is an act of love from me to my Creator and it is a gift from my Creator to me. God reminds me to hope when I see a marigold. God reminds me to shine, to be bold in doing what I know to be right. Marigolds are promises of forgiveness when I mess up, that God is love and grace and stands beside me, even when I am not at my best, like the beauty of that bright, golden sun washed blossom that endures and bounces back through summer storms. 

If I could give the world a marigold, if I could give you a marigold it would be a reminder that I pray for courage for us all to work for peace, to accept people as Christ accepted and accepts all people. It would be a reminder that I pray for peace to take root deep in your soul, in my soul, in the souls of all the world because me praying for your soul, you praying my soul, us praying for the souls of the world is a gift of beauty, hope, peace, and understanding.

Soli Deo Gloria!