Meteorologically speaking, this was not a great day. The temperatures hovered just above forty. The rain obscured the sun. The wind made it feel like March rather than Memorial Day weekend. But I felt tremendous contentment as I alternated between making photographs and weeding. And as the morning progressed, I realized that gardening has taught me four irreducible principles about marriage.

1. Growth is good. I doubt we would have made it this far as husband and wife if we did not commit to grow. Though we still struggle with some of the same areas of weakness that were present twenty-two years ago, we barely resemble the man and woman who walked down the aisle that glorious May morning. We’re more patient and forbearing. We’re less fearful and cynical. This growth has come because we are intentional about it. We want to be more like Jesus and well understand that this will not happen by osmosis. Growth depends upon ruthless pruning, eliminating uninvited guests, and lots of space.

2. Control is illusive. It might freeze in May, destroying the blossoms in their peak. Deer might discover the saplings. An overzealous teenager might cut down all the newly planted lilacs, even when explicitly asked not to. While I might have specific hopes and dreams for who my husband might become, he has his own root system that defies my attempt to redirect it. This is good, because he is then responsible for his own growth.

3. Gardens, like relationships, flourish with attention. Some years, I have completely ignored every inch of our yard. Pregnancies, sick parents, job changes, etc. have consumed every ounce of me, resulting in the emergence in a nearly indecipherable mix of weeds, ersatz flowers (such as Queen Anne’s Lace), and purchased perennials. Year ten of our marriage was like this. We were overwhelmed by three young boys, my husband’s three part-time jobs, and home-schooling. I neither tended nor appreciated my “garden” that season. The next two years were spent weeding–and trying to return some semblance of beauty to our lives.

4. Beauty, which sometimes seems evasive, is everywhere. I recently purchased a macro lens. This affords me the ability to get incredibly close to whatever object I want to photograph. In order to make a good image, I have to be incredibly purposeful, observant, and slow. In shifting to first gear, beauty reveals itself. Sometimes I have to look from below. Sometimes from above. By training my eyes, I now see things I might have missed as a younger woman. Like the soft wrinkles around my husband’s eyes when he smiles. Or the passion in his voice when he leads worship. Or his tenderness when I am unraveling.

Neither my garden nor my marriage is perfect. Yet both somehow mysteriously bring me profound joy and deep satisfaction. Perhaps in part that’s because I cannot claim credit for either. All I can do is play my little role and offer up thanks to be part of something bigger than me.