There is a side of me that thinks when we start to obsess about what our lawns look like it is time for us to think about taking up a new hobby, like alphabetizing our canned goods (sadly, I actually do this). But wait, isn’t this green space also God’s space, some of the last authentically green spots on an otherwise barren urban landscape? And if so, shouldn’t we think more seriously how we give life to our shrubbery?

One thing I learned about living in Toronto is that people don’t take those warnings about water scarcity seriously. Last summer, my wife and I heard the plea and decided we would not water our small postage stamp front lawn. Meanwhile, we walked by neighbours sloshing on water morning, noon and night. Their lawns looked like green carpets, ours like a pitcher’s mound without the rubber.

In the early 1980s, when Prince Charles and his new bride Diana visited Halifax, I remember well that local landscapers actually painted the grass green. Given our urban obsession with perfectly green lawns, I have often wondered why we don’t just use green spray paint. It’s a lot cheaper and less time consuming.

But no, we want to grow the grass naturally, whatever than means. So we buy the sod, pour on more water and pray all will go well. If it doesn’t, we call a landscaper to help us.

There are some interesting front lawns. I like the ones with stones, with ivy, with bright, loud flowers. The stones make me think of beaches, the ivy reminds me about growing life, and the colourful flowers excite my senses.

But most people who pay for landscaping services have fairly predictable taste. What they want is a strange hybrid of miniature golf course and cemetery with flowers that are so tidy you don’t know if they are real. And those flower urns, more common than Maple Leaf banners in this city, can we try something else?

My father, who unlike me has a green thumb, drives around the Maritimes in search of the perfect ditch weed. Once he sees it, he pulls his car over to the shoulder of the highway, takes out his shovel, and digs the colourful flower/weed out of the ditch and places it in his trunk. Quickly he drives back home to plant the new life in his garden. Now there is a sermon!

Enter Mike Lavan of Toronto’s IE Aesthetic. Mike takes his Christianity without any cream or sugar. He tries to live it with an authenticity that can be intense. Unlike many landscapers who aim to please the customer by giving him/her what they want, or more precisely what our culture has told them they want, Mike spends time getting top know his clients, their values, their spirit and the land where they live.

Customers often have one of two reactions. They either find Mike’s approach confusing, since they already know what they want, or they suddenly discover choices that make them feel more honest, more real. Mike opens up for people possibilities they might never have considered.

For instance, Mike does his homework. He knows the local rocks and calls granite “God’s handwork, which can’t be improved.” He knows the indigenous plant life. And he knows about sustainability.

My wife and I have a terrible habit of neglecting and then over-watering our plants and flowers. Not a problem for Mike, he creates space that can sustain itself.

And Mike saves the customer money.

What impresses me about Mike’s faith is that it removes the other distractions that cause the rest of us to compromise our principles. Money is secondary. Being popular holds no water (pardon the pun). And walking the familiar path just isn’t in the cards.

Mike is one part preacher, one part artist, one part architect. The day I told Mike I was selling my house, he helped me move. He looked over our barren property, with the grass we had allowed to wither, and suggested he plant some indigenous trees. He had other ideas as well. In the end we didn’t do anything; rather, we listened to voices that told us how to get the maximum profit for our little home. It worked. The advice was sound but I still regret not listening to Mike, and feel sad the new owner will not have those trees to look at.

One night Mike drove me home from a party and detoured through neighbourhoods I didn’t recognize. He slowed down, beamed his lights on the lawns and described how he researched the rocks, the trees, the grass. He told me about how he found out about the owners and their values and the legacy they wanted to leave when they no longer lived there. And he told me how he had made friends, lots of them. I realized Mike didn’t have a Rolodex of clients but a long list of friends with amazing front lawns.

There is an organic connection between our souls and what we see and live. Most of us llive surrounded by concrete and if we try to get away from it all, we encounter tourist towns that resemble Hollywood movie sets.

But walking by lawns that draw my eyes to living space, sustainable space, colourful and rugged space, I am reminded that I am alive.

And while I love to alphabetize my canned goods, taking a tour of Mike’s work is something I can do with others.

Faith really can move mountains, or at least granite rocks.