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Tag: gardening

I will not be beautiful for someone else

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I am tired. I am broken violets in a vase that hasn’t had water for days. I am cut at the base of a very long stem –¬†growing bent under the weight of others’ sins carried on the wind. How do you grow up when you cannot see the sun? Cannot feel the heat on your leaves? No warmth in the day? No moon at night?

I die. My roots growing further into the earth trying to bury my alive. When I am hiding perhaps I’ll survive. Only dirt is seen by the naked eye, but I…

I grow silently beneath the soil. I wrap all my limbs around rocks that told me I couldn’t and hold them so tightly. They anchor me. I tell them my secrets hoping my stories will bounce back with an echo of truth I don’t already know. I am only a seed below.

Scattered. Like dust. Shattered. Like someone just put me here and expected me to be something beautiful. Something for show. A feature in a building they call home.

It’s a house made of aging bones and hollow noises and records that play on too-loud speakers because why fix a thing that isn’t completely broken? Yet. It’s only a little out of shape. The music is still in time. In time.

In time. My heart no longer beats in time to the right rhythm. Broken violets in a thirsty vase asking for questions to be asked. Why keep them if they’re dead? What if they rot?

I’m not saying they’re entirely ineffectual – I’m a conversation starter at least. What will they speak about with a flowerless mantlepiece? Will they even miss me?

Not planted or picked for display. Just somewhere. A seed. Growing my own way and looking for the light.

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God teaches in the gardening

I am extremely chuffed with myself. This last weekend I fixed up my own garden. It’s the first time I’ve ever had to because up till now I’ve lived with others who had the garden sorted but this garden is mine. Three of us moved into a house mid-February and it feels really grown up because I have a garden.

This garden was clearly not looked after by the previous owners so there is much that needed to be done. Flowerbeds to turn, edges to trim, branches to saw, grass to mow, plants to cut, and everything needed a lot of water. So I did it. All of it. Hours and sweat and cuts and bruises and dirt (lots of dirt) and water and in the midst of it all, God speaks.

He speaks about faithfulness. He speaks about looking after what has been entrusted to me. He speaks about turning soil in my heart in places I’ve let it get hard. He speaks about pushing through the pain of stiffness because life is going to have hard, painful moments but I have to carry on.

He speaks about drinking in His living water when life turns up the heat. He speaks about working towards an end goal and not taking my eye off the prize. He speaks about thorns and how I should remember the crown that was on Jesus’ head. He speaks about the importance of being alone with Him.

He reminds me that surely if he cares for the earth, He cares for me. He reminds me that He created all things and He created me. He reminds me that He knows each blade of grass and He knows me. He reminds me that just like I work the garden, He works in me.

It rained last night and I was grateful that I’d worked the garden; it looked fresh and neat and beautiful and I was grateful that I had a garden.