I have always loved gardening. The act of coaxing and nurturing life is centering, quieting, empowering — and yet, always and profoundly humbling.
For, whatever it is that I think I did by planting those seeds — whatever effort was involved, whatever achievement earned — will always pale desperately compared to the act of CREATING those seeds! (A recurring thought/Proof of God — if you think you’re so awesome, then YOU make a tree! Not GROW a tree…MAKE a tree.)
Most importantly, as much as I might love the flowers glorifying our little corner of the world, or the tomatoes and lettuce and radishes and peas and beans we can simply go pick rather than pay for, gardening is never about simply growing plants, as much as it is about growing the spirit.
In both cases, something beautiful rises out of the dirt, given rightness of mind, dedication of body, and faith in something unseen, but as real and essential as the rain. Call it love, if you wish.
A poem, to that effect…
THE FLOWER
I will plant a flower
to show what I
have learned from your love.
I will push the seed deep
into the warm, dark,
moist, living soil.
I will feed it, nurture it
to coax its fragile stem
from its protective shell.
I will open spring’s window
to help the bud find the
sun’s warm, strengthening glow.
I will muddy my knees
to remove all that
would choke its growth.
I will gently pluck away
the browned, curled petals
to let out the new.
I will do everything I can to
help this flower find and
show its sweet, colorful glory.
I will sing only of its beauty,
hiding my dirty hands,
and never blocking its sunlight.
I will cherish this flower
then give it to you,
a treasure from my heart to yours.
I will, for I have learned that
words alone can’t bring
and sustain life, but only love.
