How much is enough?

March 1, 2026

Once upon a time…there was a woman named Dee. She was generous in many ways. She worked hard, supported good causes, and was respected in her community. Over time, her success brought her a beautiful home set in stunning grounds: trees and meadow, flowers and vegetables, even a path down to the sea. She tended it carefully and often stood at the window, satisfied. Surely, she thought, this was a fair reward for a life of good works.

One afternoon, she heard laughter. Looking out, she saw children playing freely among the trees. Instead of delight, she felt irritation. This was her garden. She went out and sent them away. Soon after, she built a high wall and posted stern warnings: Keep out.

With the wall in place, the garden was quiet again. Private. Undisturbed. Safe.

But something changed.

The warmth seemed to fade. The sunlight no longer lingered. The flowers struggled to bloom. The birds fell silent. What had once felt like blessing began to feel like winter. And Dee herself felt a growing sadness she could not explain.

One morning, she awoke to a shaft of sunlight breaking through her window. She ran outside and saw that a small gap had opened in the wall. The children had returned. Wherever they played, spring had come again — blossoms opening, birds singing, light returning.

All but in one corner.

There, a little girl stood crying beneath a tree she could not climb. That corner remained cold and wintry.

Dee paused. Then she walked past the other children and knelt beside the girl. Gently she asked what was wrong. When she understood, she lifted the child onto a low branch.

In that moment, something thawed — not just in the garden, but in Dee’s heart.

The children cheered. The girl smiled. And Dee realized — the garden had never truly been hers. It had been given to be shared.

She tore down the wall.

From then on, the garden flourished. Laughter returned. The seasons made sense again. And as Dee grew older, she found more joy in watching others delight in the beauty than she had ever found in keeping it for herself.

Years later, in the depth of winter, she once again saw that little girl beneath the tree — yet around her it was springtime. When Dee came close, she saw marks on the child’s hands and feet.

“Who has hurt you?” Dee cried.

“These are the wounds of love,” the child replied. “You welcomed me into your garden. Now come with me into mine.”

And Dee was found beneath the tree, her face peaceful — as though she had stepped at last into a greater garden, one not built by human hands.

Meditation:  How much is enough?

How much space do you guard?

How tightly do you hold what you call “ours”?

Do you build walls — around possessions, around time, around welcome?

The Gospel reminds us that what we have is gift. Our homes, our resources, our talents. None are simply rewards for good behavior. They are entrusted to us for the sake of love.

When we cling, winter follows.

When we open, spring begins.

Perhaps the “little girl” meets us in many forms — in the stranger, the child, the newcomer, the one who struggles to belong. In welcoming them, we are welcoming Christ himself.

And in learning to share the garden now, we prepare our hearts for the greater garden to come.

So, this Lent, let us ask gently but honestly:

Where have I built walls?

And where might God be inviting me to let spring in?