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School is starting here and I’m up to my waist in textbooks and spiral notebooks and literature. The summer never seems to slow and it feels as if we went straight from a marathon into a sprint.
It’s easy for me to panic.
Forget to breathe.
Worry.
My children are no longer little, each with activities which require my attention and time and I have to continually resist the urge to pull in, to become selfish, to wish the day away.
I’ve spent little time in my garden; it’s become a jungle from summer sunshine and showers. The tomatoes have all fallen over and twisted into the pepper plants. The basil is overgrown and flowered and stalky. I’ve been uprooting my zinnias, gathering the seeds and throwing the rest into the compost pile.
My seed packets are slowly filling for next Spring’s beds.
The feel of the seeds, crisp and prickly, in my palm this morning reminded me of the day of scattering.
Sometimes in the busy and constant demand of “now” I have to force myself to remember patience. Patience is the scattering of seeds and waiting for the earth to break open days or weeks later. Gardening is so good for me.
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The life lessons are abundant:
Growing a family takes tending and mending and devotion.
Marriage requires faithful attention and hard work.
Running a business gets your hands dirty.
Healthy bodies don’t just happen.
Unforgiveness leads to bitterness and can overgrow and strangle out the life.
Beauty can be planted. I can intentionally create a more beautiful life by becoming more present and aware of the people around me, the earth beneath my feet, the air and light and love I feel.
Thankfulness. Storms are necessary in order to grow. Pruning hurts but allows me to become more myself. Uprooting deep hurts sometimes feels impossible. Getting shit dumped on us can make us stronger and healthier if we’re willing to learn from it.
Boundaries are necessary and healthy.
So I’m headed outside today to work with my hands and breathe in fresh air and gather more seeds.