What I Found in the Weeds on Tuesday

“I really think all your cultivating is making a difference.”

Recently, in the midst of a little evening ritual we share, my husband offered that thought.

Before dinner, we routinely wander to our riverside chairs with some wine to catch up on the day’s events.  Lately, the stroll toward that destination almost always includes a stop by the garden to see how it’s changed from the previous day.  I hope I never stop feeling amazed when I see just how much it does change each day in the heart of summer, because it really is like watching a bit of a miracle. 

So far, our garden looks exceptionally healthy this year.  I know he credited my cultivating because I have dedicated regular time to turning up the soil and controlling the weeds, which has not always been the case. 

It feels good to think my effort might make a difference, but I also know that any of number of other things could explain it:  The rotation of the plants.  The weather.  His relatively new efforts at composting and enriching the soil over the winter.  Who knows exactly what has helped the most?  But if you think the way I do, you’ll understand when I say that – when something seems to be going right – I tend to not want to rock the boat by changing a thing. 

So, this past Tuesday morning, I woke up early, slipped into my dilapidated rubber boots, and headed out there, hoping to beat the 91-degree temperatures forecasted that day.  As always, I grabbed my PaPa’s hoe – a well-worn treasure I inherited from him.  Maybe my work makes a difference, but truthfully, I also just enjoy it.  It makes me think so fondly about my PaPa, and it gives me time to think about anything I want. 

No noise.  Except the birds.  (The backyard variety as well as all the waterfowl who also call our home theirs.) Sometimes the distinctive hum of a powerful outboard as an early morning fisherman soars past.  Occasionally a distant lawnmower.  Also, (Real Life here!) frequently the tireless bark of an over-energized (but oh-so-lovable) 9-month-old black lab - if we haven’t properly entertained him yet (but that’s another story). 

Many times, what you read HERE, I cultivated THERE, right along with the soil, in that (mostly) quiet time. 

That morning, I walked into the garden thinking I knew what I wanted to write this week, and that I just needed to dig up all my thoughts.    

If you follow me in Real Life, maybe you saw a social media post I shared at the end of Independence Day weekend.  The caption concluded with, “Some of the best ‘next chapters’ of my life have come in some pretty unexpected ways.”  I could have said so much more about that, and I planned to.  Here, this week.  I thought I’d talk about what I’ve learned; the joy I’ve experienced; by giving some unlikely things a chance in my life. 

As so often happens, I thought I knew what I would write – until something else undeniably landed on my heart.    

That Tuesday morning, I put PaPa’s hoe and my thoughts right to work.  The first strike of the hoe always tells the tale:  If it has lacked either water or attention, the hard ground meets the hoe with enough resistance to jar my wrists and forearms, letting me know I have my work cut out for me.  This day, though, it felt good. 

Still, despite the early hour, I quickly felt the blazing sun on my shoulders; sweat trickling down my spine.  Pausing for a swig from the water bottle I’d left perched atop a fencepost, I took the (usually daunting) first glance: How much had I done versus how much remained? 

That’s when it hit me:  The plants had grown so much, that barely any room remained for weeds. 

It felt encouraging:  A noticeable return on my investment of time, sweat, stiff hands, and raggedy fingernails. 

Then, something else hit me. 

When it did, I knew immediately that what I had walked into that garden thinking I’d write this week, was not the thing making me want to drop the hoe, run straight to my laptop, and start writing RIGHT THEN.  So that I wouldn’t miss a single thing suddenly running through my head, and more importantly, my heart. 

That’s not how writing looks in my Real Life, though. 

I love it, but unfortunately, it’s not my job.  I need to keep up with everything else first.  So, I resisted the urge to flee, stayed in the garden, kept the hoe moving, and contemplated the striking parallel I’d just uncovered between gardening and my life. 

Not so long ago, my garden looked quite different than it does today.  Less healthy.  More weeds.  Largely because, until now, I haven’t prioritized giving it the time and attention it really needs to grow and flourish.  Not because I haven’t always, theoretically, enjoyed that sort of thing, but because my life has been so crowded with other things. 

That crowded life also looked quite different than mine does today.  It also had its fair share of “weeds”:  Things that not only produced nothing of value, but that also hindered the growth and vitality of those that potentially could. 

In neither case can I tell you exactly how things reached that state, other than to say that it just happened a little bit at a time.  Maybe you can relate.  Doesn’t life sometimes just keep handing us more and more to do?  As well as distractions, temptations, and (sometimes perfectly acceptable) excuses to avoid working on the things we know would best serve us? 

Sometimes, much of it really is beyond our control.  At other times, though, we get the chance to choose differently. 

Just as I have had the chance to take better care of my garden this season, in recent years, I have also had the chance to prioritize different things in my life.  Things I want to grow and flourish. 

I’ve already written 1,773 words in another post about how much happier I feel when I can live simply.  For the sake of word count, I won’t delve far into that here.  I’d love to… but I won’t…

I will tell you about some things I’ve decided deserve my time, attention, and effort.    

I’ll begin with my hopefully obvious values:  Living a life that pleases God.  Working and growing with my husband to keep a healthy marriage.  Serving as a safe, loving presence in lives of my kids. 

To do those things to the best of my ability, though, I must also prioritize these things: 

Gratitude.  Upon opening my eyes each morning, I try to make my first conscious thought a grateful one: “Thank you, Lord, for another day…” Then to carry that mindset throughout my day.    

Time each morning for just God and me.  I’ve heard it called putting “the Good News before the hard news”, and I love that.  It means before I look at my phone.  Ideally before I speak to another human.  Before everything else.  I know for sure that this time, even if just a few minutes, helps prepare me for everything else to come that day.

Physical activity – every day.  Running?  Walking?  Bike Ride?  Yoga?  Maybe.  Today, I approach the “what” of it far less rigidly than I have in the past.  I believe that whatever sounds best to me that day IS what’s best for me that day. 

Routine.  Going to bed and waking up at the same time every day.  Working (only) during work hours.  Winding down properly each night.   

Boundaries.  Several years ago, my husband strategically built a high-powered electric fence to keep scavengers out of our garden.  A bit of overkill?  Possibly.  (The guy just doesn’t do anything halfway…)  Truthfully, though, we invest too much in that garden – money, time, sweat, and hope – to risk the errant groundhog strolling through and taking one bite out of every tomato.  (WHY can they never eat just ONE?) 

I want to protect the good things in my life just as aggressively as we protect the good things in our garden.  To give them their best chance at growing into something big and beautiful.  That means guarding what I allow in:  How I spend my time.  The thoughts I allow myself to have.  Sometimes, even the people I allow space in my life. 

Do I successfully execute each of these things every day?  No. 

But I do find that clearly knowing my priorities and having practices in place to support them makes a difference. 

My garden looks healthy today, but that doesn’t mean I can abandon the things I’ve done to help make it so and expect it to remain healthy. 

Consistency matters.

By looking after my garden faithfully, I notice if a plant begins to look weak or fragile.  On Tuesday, I spotted one pepper plant whose roots looked a little over-exposed, as though a hard rain could knock it over.  I redistributed the soil to better protect the roots.  It made a difference.  Had I not noticed it in time, the plant might have withered and died.   

In my life, I also want to faithfully look after the things I hope to see GROW.  To catch and fix weaknesses before they do damage.  I believe it does make a difference. 

Not only for me, but for everyone in my circle. 

When I grow a healthy garden, I get the chance to share the bounty with others.  It makes people happy to receive a beautiful tomato or zucchini.  It makes me happy to have it to give. 

When I try to live my life in a way where I constantly learn and grow, it also gives me something to share with others; to contribute positively to the world in some small way.     

Sharing in either of these ways always represents a labor of love:  A combination of the work I’ve put in and God’s blessings along the way. 

On Tuesday, when I saw how little room remained in my garden for weeds, I realized how true that has also become of my life. 

As I focus more on growing the good things, much less space remains for the life-draining things: 

Worry or fear.

Anger or hate.

Comparison or judgement.

Drama… Which I believe more all the time almost always finds its roots in one of those things. 

…Finishing up on Tuesday, I moved to the part of the garden I always save for last.  The middle.  This year, I left space there for the sprinkler, which so far, we haven’t even installed.  Therefore, it remains an area accommodating nothing but weeds.  Or so I thought.  As I set about working there that morning, something I saw gave me pause.  A few sprouts among what I know are weeds looked a little different.  Upon looking more closely at one of them, I considered:   

“I thought that was a weed, but maybe it’s not.  Why not give it a chance?  See what it becomes?” 

Maybe not everything in the middle is a weed after all. 

While the garden is young, the soil in which it’s planted is not.  Certainly, we’ve planted something there before.  Just because we couldn’t see anything on the surface, it doesn’t mean that roots hadn’t taken hold underneath.  Maybe it didn’t even grow when we originally planted it, but it’s been there all along, waiting for the perfect conditions to thrive. 

Sometimes the fruit of our labor doesn’t come when we think it will, but instead it comes later - at an unexpected time that makes us appreciate it even more. 

And just like that:  During the time I spent in the garden that Tuesday, things had come full circle. 

I walked in thinking about how much I’d learned and gained by giving things a chance.  I thought THAT was my message to share this week.

I walked out feeling God had nudged me just a little.  Possibly reminding me that I should keep my eyes, my mind, and my heart open to things I can’t see right now?  But that to fully embrace and receive whatever they might hold for me – I first need to faithfully just keep doing the work?  And to share the truth of the process? 

I don’t know for sure.  About the maybe-not-weeds in the garden.  About the things I might need to give a chance in life.  What I do know is that by trying, I’ll never have to wonder. 

In my garden - and in my life – I want to cultivate the good things; give them the care and the space they need to flourish and grow BIG. 

I want to seriously boundary what I choose to allow in.    

I want to keep some space in the middle and stay open to what it could hold.      

I might have to sort through some weeds, but doing the work is always worth it.  It WILL make a difference.  Even if it takes a while to see it.