soil

Kneeling, the sun at my back and weeds being erected from the soil in fistfuls. I'm finding more and more that there is a connectedness between fragile and divine that happens in this posture. More than once I've found myself planting, watering, pulling the unwanted with my mind wandering on Him as an omniscient, omnipresent gardener, pulling with gentle urgency the weeds choking out the harvest of what is good and sincere in me. Lately I've been seeing the depth of my depravity, the truth in my downfalls and how they are affecting my sweet son. How, even though they aren't consistent, my interspersed fits of rage and frustration alter him. He is drinking in my example, and the bad seems to sink in, anchoring the folly in his heart while we try desperately to teach him to be good, compassionate, dare say, patient. I tell myself, "You have to stop this. No more yelling. No more harsh punishment." Then the defiance, the expression of two year old frustration yanks at the chain of my indifference and once again I find myself prey to the prowling. OH, to remember Yahweh in these moments, I feel like a lesser disciple that I can't seem to consider His power to change me in those moments.

I'm finding joy also, though, through dirty fingertips soiled through cheap garden gloves. Finding that I love making something plain become something beautiful, useful, extraordinary. Harvesting broccoli from our garden and watching little peppers form from tiny buds is strangely exhilarating. I don't mind that more often than not I'm found sweaty with dirt laden finger nails, because the reward is just so rich. To see what was plain and green blossom into dainty pink petals along our sidewalk, knowing that I chose their place and purposed them to make the simple so lovely. These simple things in life, I'm trying to remember them, revel in how good things are now. It is a season. While my heart struggles with wandering, I want to rest in this sweetness, knowing that there will be a different time when things will perhaps be harder, trials will shake us but that ultimately it is all good, for good and that right now I am just to soak it in deep, as water on roots.

So digging and yanking produce empty spaces, filled by the unwanted no more I'm seeing romance in the cracks. Working together with this man I love, the sand on his cheeks and the glisten of work on his brow and together we are creating memorable things. In the garden, in our hearts. I connect with him deeply through the process of eradicating ragweed pavers and creating spaces for color and vibrant growth. A space for coffee sipping, late night talk among the flowers, visions I have for the special plot beneath the kitchen window. We're learning with tiny strides the vital lessons of creating connection with hurried time cards. I want to connect as deep as the roots of the cottonwood grow, I want to know him as far as the seed is blown. Little moments will add up to meaningful forevers.