Deadheading the irises

They’ve bloomed for us since May,

lifting their multicolored skirts
in a welcoming dance,
flinging rainbow colors
in greeting as members
of the local family of God,
also clad in varying colors,
styles and perspectives,
made their way past the garden
and into the sanctuary.

But the season is passing,
and Anna attends to the garden,
deadheading the early blooms
that now show signs of decay.
With scissors and a flick of her wrist,
she snaps them off.
Silverado, Rare Treat, Viva la France!,
Hello Darkness, Armageddon,
Dusky Challenger and Mary Francis,
painted ladies past their prime,
they all bite the dust, as the few remaining
blossoms pretend it won’t happen to them.

And even as I thank God for Anna’s
service, tidying up the garden,
I recall that God’s ways are above ours.
I think of those among us whose
sanctification occasionally slips,
give praise for a Master Gardener
who does not deadhead the saints.