My mom was a gardener, but not only of plants. She planted seeds wherever she went: seeds of kindness, seeds of love, seeds of curiosity. And she delighted in watching what she planted grow!
Mom’s husband, Frank, likes to tell about Mom’s hands and gardening.
“She used to come in,” he reminisces, “with thorns and stickies in her hands, which I would treat and tell her, ‘There’s a wonderful invention that you can use. They’re called gloves.’ Her reply was always the same, ‘I have to feel the connection with the plants and the earth.’” I relate to this! I too have tried gloves. They cause me to leave the root of a weed, because they dull my sense of touch.
My ‘gardening’ does not look much like Mom’s. She brought forth life from the ground. I never seem to get past the battle with weeds…at least not here, in humid, sandy Florida. Once I had a garden in California. It was wild and infrequently tended, but I loved it nonetheless. I delighted in the life it produced. In my front yard, I tossed out handfuls of wildflower mix. It seemed like a good idea at the time! Soon, ours was the only home in the gated community with five foot tall flowers covering the space that would have held a lawn. My neighbors may have been just a little bit annoyed!
In my backyard, I nurtured flowers, vines and vegetables of my own. Little Emme received crowns of flowers. Toddler Declan helped himself to carrots, walking to the back door with dirt surrounding his lips, evidence of his oneness with the garden. Then I moved to Florida. Here, my plants do not thrive. Only the weeds grow in abundance. I fight for the motivation to even continue battling their take over of my yard.
Weeding is a funny sort of gardening. Instead of nurturing life, I create spaces. I essentially, remove life from the ground. But I never get around to replacing the weeds with something beautiful or something useful. I send myself out into the hot, sticky August day with a bucket and my bare hands. Avoiding the thorny weeds, I attack a corner of the “garden” space. I find an area, not too sunny, not overrun by fire ants, and begin to restore order.
As I pull, I pray. This is my refuge from conflict and confusion. I can simply be here in the “garden,” pulling, thinking and praying until the bucket is full, the sweat runs too profusely, or urgent matters call me back inside.
Mom was a gardener, but not only of plants. She planted seeds in my heart. She helped me learn to love books, teaching, children’s laughter, music, cool summer garden spaces, flowers and ladybugs.
Once my children were small, full of energy, impossible to contain. Marvelously unpredictable, they were full of wonder, full of noise. Everywhere we went, they drew attention. They thrived under my care, rarely looking obedient, rarely blending in, similar to that California wild flower lawn…. Un-careful to fit in! Yes, those little people were full of life. Simple food, a good story or a fun song were enough to get them moving and keep them going until the nap time crash. I was the gardener and my home was full of beautiful, chaotic growth.
Now, here in Florida, I am the mom of teens. My house grows quiet with their absence, or their lack of interaction, as they disappear into electronic devices. Sometimes these days, parenting feels more like weeding than planting. Put away your device. Do your chores. Clean up your mess. Apologize to your brother. I try to sow the seeds of love, but those weeds keep growing back into our living space. As I tire of policing my kids, I wish I could be only in charge of myself. I take a deep breath, creep out the door and retreat to my weeding, praying space once again.
Alone, with the weed bucket, I ask God to restore my balance and my faith. I remember that these teens are the same amazing humans I have nurtured up till now. Seeds of love can take a long time to grow. But hope remains. I remember,
“Let us not become weary in doing good, for we will reap a harvest if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9 NIV).
Mom was a gardener, but not only of plants. And she delighted in watching what she planted grow!
I stand, wipe my brow and consider the shady space I just cleared out. Maybe a butterfly garden right here? Maybe some pebbles to keep the weeds at bay? A lizard scurries up the wall by my side, surprising me and reminding me there is life all around. Sometimes I just don’t have eyes to see. Let me plant new life while it is still a sunny, summer day. Let me wait patiently for the seeds I plant to grow.
Let me look to the Lord of the Harvest and trust He is doing wild and wonderful things in my garden, in my home, in my heart.
