I do not want to over-contextualize this poem. Sometimes additional context in this format—sharing a poem via the internet—is helpful. But I want you to transplant this into the soil of your own soul without too much "what does it mean" amending. What I will say is that I share it this week for a reason, as a kind of memorial stone for a particularly trying yet beautiful and formative season in our lives.
Trial Gardens
We walked through the gardens one June evening
remarking upon the beauty on trial—
clematis, hummingbird trumpet, penstemon,
veronica, delphinium, blanket flower.
Or was it the trial
that made these things beautiful,
that brought forth the blooms and Latin,
names within names within identities?
Was it the suffering of drought and clay soil
that established the roots?
Was it the grieving of autumn’s certainty
that made growth possible?
I feared this was the truth, that beauty
does not first stand trial but is shaped by it,
raises its head to the sun because of it.
I stood on the path by a hedge of tickseed coreopsis
Processing this, a photosynthesis of the soul,
yet still doubting the fruitfulness
and cursing the cruelty of the season,
when you walked up behind me
And wrapped me in your arms.
I did not know how much I needed the embrace
until I felt the skin of your reassurance
and breathed the midsummer blossoms of your hair.
You, there with me, perennially in my heart.
Previously, on Side Notes
I wrote about finding snippets of Rudyard Kipling’s “If—” in a 20-year-old emo song. And how these proved timely and encouraging, given recent changes in life. (Hello there, unemployment.) In the post, I also reflect on the fact that at this time last year, we were welcoming two foster kids into our household. (There’s an Easter egg in there about today’s poem, actually.)
A couple excerpts:
And yet, for me at least, the verb that both the poem and the song revolve around, the gravitational force that holds everything together, is “stoop.” To stoop means to get low, to come down to the reality of things, to get your hands dirty. It requires a steeled meekness, equal amounts humility and fortitude. Two virtues needed for sowing seeds and maturing to manhood.
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about what it means to stoop. I have been having to practice stooping. Taking up the tools at my disposal—however worn-out—for some repair work, for some re-giving of my life to.
In particular, the stooping has centered on two things: my work / job / vocation, and life in general as our family nears the one-year anniversary of when the two foster children were placed with us.
And:
There is so much to thank God for. In this spirit of gratitude, we’ve been taking a prolonged celebratory lap here at the end of the homeschool year, reflecting on how well our kids did in their school work and their extra curricular activities, even with two additional household members causing no small amounts of chaos for most of that time. They persevered; they grew so much; they learned so much more than any textbook could ever teach. I am so proud of them. And I am so proud of my wife. She continued to give of herself to our kids while standing (and stooping) in the gap for two orphaned souls, utterly exposed to generations’ worth of chaos and sin. It was a garden of trials, and her true beauty blossomed under the shadow of God’s gracious wings.
More on beauty
Ted Gioia takes the arts to task for abandoning beauty and abdicating the stewardship and cultivation of it to the “beauty” industry. “Alas, the culture power brokers gave up on beauty long ago. They don’t even use the word anymore. They now deal in content.”
I can’t mention what one Gioia has to say about beauty without bringing up what the other Gioia has to say about beauty. Here is Ted’s older brother and super-dope poet, Dana, defining what beauty is and why it matters. It is so, so good.
Over at Beauty Through Faith, the Substack arm of Kalos Arts Foundation, Fr. John Strickland is asked—per Dostoevsky—if beauty really will or can save the world. The answer depends on what (or who!) Dostoevsky had in mind when he talked about beauty. This convo is a rewarding listen.
A question for you
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about work and vocation. Specifically, the risk-reward nature of entrepreneurship and making art. Here’s my question: When’s a time you took a risk—in art, work, or some other calling—and how did you decide it was the right time to take said risk? Leave your response in the comments or reply to this email.
‘Til next time, y’all.
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