Hello, friends. Happy Friday!
Last night, we did the first planting of the season. Well, that's not entirely true. The first planting started three weeks ago at our kitchen table. The black plastic tray sits in our window sill, a nest for our little seedlings. Every day I inspect them (okay, multiple times a day), bending over to stare at their fresh green leaves, gently running my hands across the tops of them. It's been soothing to nurture something, to see it grow.
Last night we finally got into the dirt. Our friend is kind enough to let us plant in his garden. We each took a corner and planted our assigned seeds. My hands plunged into the soft earth, breaking the clods apart between my fingers. I held the seeds in the crease of my palm and dropped them carefully into the indentations in the soil. They rest there now, buried underground. And we wait.
In response to our friend's "Well, I hope something grows," quip, Scott said, "It has every other time, hasn't it?" And then I got thinking about how gardening is a bit like hope. It really does take some faith - to do all the dirty work, to put those seeds in the ground, those little innocuous looking seeds, and to trust that, in time, they'll grow. The only proof is "they have every other time," but you don't really know until you see the tender green tendrils emerge from the earth.
I read somewhere this week that hope is "suspending my opinion until I can see the front of the tapestry" God is weaving in my life. I suppose, in the case of gardening, hope is suspending my opinion until I can see the harvest (and all the while weeding, fighting off bugs, pruning, and running the sprinklers). We can do the work, but we can't make the plant grow. We just have hope - hope that's literally rooted in the ground.
That's what I'm thinking about this morning - what's on your mind? I'd love to hear about it!