It wasn’t even quite summer solstice when the drama began. The Tall Kid who lives in my basement hits a tree: Cringe. Whiplash: Cringe. Totaled car: Cringe. He was lucky or as we called it: blessed.
WriterGirl, in a separate, non-vehicular accident, broke her tibia, fibula, ankle, and tore her ACL: Cringe. I’ve given her a new hashtag: #bummersummer.
In the midst of all this drama, the garden was being ignored: CRINGE! This was to be the BEST GARDEN EVER! This was the prayed over, cultivated, researched companion garden. It was to be the bounty of the fall table. It became the “Oh, can you please go turn on the hose, I forgot.” garden. Many times it was the “I should go weed the garden” garden.
But this garden was not planted on rocky soil. It was not planted in the sandy soil. It was planted in the soil of sweat, tears, poo, prayers, compost. All the nutrients God supplied.
And behold, in the midst of my perceived chaos, God was doing a work.
He blessed and he multiplied.
I watered, He created.
He even planted beauty of his own in the sweet wildflowers. Extra special. Bright and cheery.
Unexpected grace and favor.
Outside the garden even.
Not inhibited by the original plan.
The Master Gardener confounding the amateur.
No cringing. Just AWE!
Let the harvest begin.
Me: a steward
Me: not cringing.