gardening

I’ve been spending a lot of time in the garden lately. We’ve had some warm days and the weeds are keeping pace with the plants, so I’m in a rhythm of watering and weeding to give our vegetables the best chance at bearing the goodness they’re meant to bear.

Every other night, depending on the weather forecast, I drag the hoses across the driveway and the lawn to hook up the sprinkler and let the water soak into the soil for thirty minutes to an hour. One night, the wind was blowing such that the position of the sprinkler meant none of the water was actually staying in the garden. I made a small adjustment and the garden got its drink for the night.

I have no real plan for the weeding. I don’t exactly enjoy it, but our summer days so far have given me time to do what needs doing and some days I take to the garden with weeding tools under the hot afternoon sun to at least clear space around the plants. I’ve not yet been able to rid the whole garden of the unwanted greens.

I weed because I know the plants will benefit. They will get the nutrients they need to flourish. 

The fruit will be worth all the work.

—

Spiritually speaking, my garden is kind of a mess these days. (And by “these days” I mean “for a couple of years.”)

I neglected the tending work of my soul and a whole host of weeds sprung up, threatening to choke the fruit-bearing life right out of me.

It’s been a slow process, the untangling and uprooting of weeds I either didn’t know were weeds or chose not to see, and it’s not anywhere near finished.

But for the first time in years, I can see/feel/taste fruit. My life feels vibrant and rich, as if my soul is deeply rooted and reaching for the sun, a mystery I cannot fully explain.

It is not unlike the actual garden in my backyard.

I have long considered myself a black thumb when it comes to growing things, but the truth is our vegetable garden has produced a modest crop of goodness for several years now, and I’ve managed to keep half a dozen or more plants alive in pots on the porch.

The thing about gardening is there is work I can do and work I cannot do, and I’m still learning the difference.

Here’s how it worked with the literal garden: We made a list in our minds of what plants we wanted to buy from the garden shop. As a family, we picked them out and added a few more, paid for them and brought them home. My husband wrestled a borrowed beast of a tiller through several passes of the garden plot to prepare the soil, then we laid out a plan for where we would plant each vegetable, dug holes and transplanted each one into its own little space in the garden. We watered. We weeded. We waited.

Spiritually, it is somewhat the same. There is talk amongst people of faith of “planting seeds” in others’ lives, and I know that to be true in my own. I could list a dozen instances where someone shared their God-knowledge and Spirit-life with me and something of theirs settled deep into my soul.

Those seeds need water and tending, just like the ones in my garden, and often I wonder if there isn’t some transplanted faith that gets shared, too. Maybe it isn’t always seeds at the start. 

And the weeds—they’re present in my soul, too and without some intentional tending, they can choke out any of the good that might be growing. 

I’m not going to try to name the weeds in my life here because I think we all have different ones. Maybe they have names like pride and envy and insecurity but maybe they have other names I don’t know. 

And maybe my weeds are not the same as your weeds.

—

I have started thinking of myself as a caretaker of sorts. When my kids were little and being a stay-at-home mom was sucking the life out of me, I would have resisted such a label, but it’s a word that seems to fit me more and more.

It struck me as I watered the potted plants on the porch one day. Usually, it takes me about three refills of my small watering can to make sure all of them get enough to drink. I have marveled at their growth while they sit on my porch and I do almost nothing to ensure they grow: I water them and pick the herbs. The flowers just are.

Someone else started these plants on the path to life. We brought them into our care and now I get to nurture and encourage their growth while also seeing them thrive and become what they are meant to become. That includes ripping out the weeds that threaten their growth. When it’s time to harvest, we share the bounty with others. And at the end of the growing season, my relationship with the plants ends. Until the next time.

It’s not a perfect metaphor, but it’s how I feel about the people entrusted to my care. 

I used to feel a lot of shame that I’m not the best at staying in touch with people (even family) who don’t live in the same state as we do. I’ve tried to give energy to things like Christmas cards to everyone I know and birthday cards to family but it drains me. And it’s not that I don’t care about those people or those events, but I just don’t think it’s what I’m meant to do.

Unless I can see you in person on a regular basis. I have started to recognize that presence is one of my gifts to the world and when I’m willing to pay attention, it leads me to the care-taking of the friends and souls around me. I cannot have a large garden of plants and I cannot have a large circle of souls in my care but I can choose a few to “adopt” and give them water and love and encouragement.

Sometimes, that also means weeding. It’s tricky with the souls in my care to identify the weeds and encourage their removal. Especially since I still have so many of my own. But it’s a key to growth and becoming the whole person each of us is meant to be. It’s messy and hard but totally worth it.

I speak against the weeds as often as I can, but it’s not always welcome. I wonder if the plants in my garden would groan if they could as I hack away at the unwanted growth. Would the rose bushes cry out when we prune the dead branches? It is not easy to convince someone that a little pain, a little discomfort, a little hard work will mean future growth.

Still, I do what I can.

—

This is a message for me, too, and please don’t think I do any of it well or perfectly.

This is what I know: Something will thrive in the garden, either weeds or fruit-bearing plants, and it is the same with our souls. Either we will bear fruit or we will allow weeds to overtake the garden or maybe somewhere in between, but just as a garden needs weeding, so do our souls need tending and we cannot always do it alone.

We need caretakers and we need to take care and we need to be willing to pull the weeds and have them pulled if we’re to fulfill our purpose on this earth. (Do you know yours? That’s what makes the weeding bearable.)

The garden is growing and so am I. 

It is hard and mysterious work.