Welcoming Life

Lessons From the Garden Series

One of the gardens around our home is what we call our Three B’s garden—planted especially for bees, butterflies, and birds. I can sit on our deck for hours watching bees disappear into the lavender, hummingbirds hover at the penstemon to drink its nectar, and butterflies settle among the milkweed. I love watching the garden come alive.

We didn’t plant those flowers only because they were beautiful. We chose plants that would provide nectar, shelter, and food for the creatures we hoped to welcome. The garden receives sunlight, rain, nourishment, and care, but what it receives doesn’t remain only for itself. It becomes a place where other life can be nourished too.

It reminds me of Isaiah 58:11: “You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.” That is such a beautiful picture of the flourishing life God desires for us—not simply surviving, not merely producing, but becoming deeply rooted, watered by Him, and able to offer something life-giving to others.

But there is another side to gardening. As much as I enjoy seeing deer wandering across our property, I do not particularly enjoy seeing them wander through my garden. A deer can consume in minutes what took months to grow. So yes, there are things I deliberately plant to invite the bees, butterflies, and birds—and there are also things I do to discourage the deer. Apparently Christian hospitality does not require surrendering the roses. 😊

Perhaps there is something important in that distinction. A flourishing life does not mean giving everyone unrestricted access to us. Healthy boundaries matter. There may be people whose behavior is destructive, controlling, manipulative, or simply unsafe. Wisdom may require distance. Sometimes protecting what God is growing in us is not selfish; it is stewardship.

Hurt can do something else too. When we have been wounded deeply enough, we may begin protecting ourselves not only from those who caused the damage, but from almost everyone. We may still love, serve, encourage, pray, and care for others. From the outside, our garden may appear to be flourishing. Yet without realizing it, we may have stopped planting anything that invites others closer.

We stop sharing the tender places, asking for help, or allowing ourselves to need anyone. We become comfortable giving but uneasy receiving. We may decide it is safer not to trust too much, reveal too much, or depend too much. Those responses may make sense in light of what happened. The problem comes when yesterday’s hurt becomes today’s gardening plan.

Imagine if, because deer once devastated my flowers, I decided never again to plant anything that attracted living creatures. No lavender for the bees, no milkweed for the butterflies, no penstemon for the hummingbirds. I might protect the garden from one kind of visitor, but I would also lose much of the life I love within it.

Sometimes we do something similar with our hearts. Someone betrays our confidence, so we stop being vulnerable. Someone takes advantage of our generosity, so we become guarded. Someone rejects us when we need them, so we learn not to need anyone. Eventually, boundaries meant to protect us can become so broad that very little relationship can grow inside them.

That is why we need God’s wisdom—not simply walls or openness. Not everyone belongs in the garden. Some things really do need to stay on the other side of the fence. But neither should the deer determine whether I ever welcome another butterfly.

There is a difference between protecting what is growing and making our lives inhospitable to anything new. Perhaps part of healing is allowing God to show us that difference. Who are the safe people He has brought near? Where might He be inviting us to risk being known again? Have we become so accustomed to giving that we have forgotten how to receive? Is there an area where an old wound is still determining how much connection we allow today? And perhaps the question is not simply, Who should I let in? Maybe it is, What am I cultivating in my life that makes healthy relationship possible?

Trust grows slowly, and so do vulnerability and friendship. We do not need to hand everyone unrestricted access to the garden. We can watch, discern, tend, prune, protect, and sometimes say no. But we can also cultivate what draws healthy life near, making room for the relationships God may use to bring beauty, nourishment, and growth.

And something beautiful happens when we do. The bees, butterflies, and birds do not only receive from the garden. Pollinators also contribute to its flourishing. As they come for nourishment, they carry life from one blossom to another. Relationships can be like that too.

Sometimes we think primarily about what we have to offer others, but God also brings people into our lives who help something in us bloom. Someone’s encouragement awakens courage. Someone’s kindness teaches us that kindness can be trusted. Someone’s steady presence allows us to rest. Someone’s laughter brings joy back into a place that had become too serious. Someone’s faith strengthens ours.

A flourishing life was never meant to exist only for itself, nor was it meant to be trampled without protection. Perhaps wisdom is learning what to keep out—and what to intentionally welcome in.

Lord, make my life like a well-watered garden. Give me wisdom to protect what You are growing without allowing old hurts to make my heart inhospitable to the new life You want to bring. Show me where I need healthy boundaries, and where fear has created distance You never intended. Teach me to recognize the safe people You send, to receive as well as give, and to cultivate a life where Your love can nourish others—and where I am willing to be nourished too. Amen.

 Hurt can do something else too. When we have been wounded deeply enough, we may begin protecting ourselves not only from those who caused the damage, but from almost everyone. We may still love, serve, encourage, pray, and care for others. From the outside, our garden may appear to be flourishing. Yet without realizing it, we may have stopped planting anything that invites others closer. We stop sharing the tender places, asking for help, or allowing ourselves to need anyone. We become comfortable giving but uneasy receiving. We may decide it is safer not to trust too much, reveal too much, or depend too much. Those responses may make sense in light of what happened. The problem comes when yesterday’s hurt becomes today’s gardening plan.

Imagine if, because deer once devastated my flowers, I decided never again to plant anything that attracted living creatures. No lavender for the bees, no milkweed for the butterflies, no penstemon for the hummingbirds. I might protect the garden from one kind of visitor, but I would also lose much of the life I love within it.

Sometimes we do something similar with our hearts. Someone betrays our confidence, so we stop being vulnerable. Someone takes advantage of our generosity, so we become guarded. Someone rejects us when we need them, so we learn not to need anyone. Eventually, boundaries meant to protect us can become so broad that very little relationship can grow inside them. That is why we need God’s wisdom—not simply walls or openness. Not everyone belongs in the garden. Some things really do need to stay on the other side of the fence. But neither should the deer determine whether I ever welcome another butterfly.

My Prayer for You

Father, I pray for the one listening today.

Thank You for the life You are growing in them and for every place where Your grace has brought healing, strength, and new growth.

I ask You to give them wisdom to recognize the difference between healthy boundaries and walls built from old wounds. Protect what needs protecting, Lord, but gently heal the places where hurt has caused them to pull back from connection, trust, or receiving from others.

Bring safe people into their life—people who carry kindness, encouragement, joy, wisdom, and grace. Give them discernment to recognize those You are sending and courage to make room for healthy relationship again.

Where they have become accustomed to always giving, help them also receive. Where disappointment has made them cautious, restore hope. Where something in them has stopped blooming, breathe fresh life into that place.

May their life become like the well-watered garden of Isaiah 58—deeply rooted in You, flourishing under Your care, nourishing others, and welcoming the beautiful life You desire to bring.

In Jesus’ name, amen.