There is something beautifully simple about sitting in a garden planting seeds, digging in the dirt, and transplanting new growth in the ground.
Yesterday as I walked around the neighborhood, I wandered over to The Last Organic Outpost to do some volunteer farming. Linda handed me a bucket of soil, some small pots, and a bag of cabbage seeds. I set up under a ramada as it began sprinkling, digging into the bucket of dirt with both hands, patting it into the tiny pots, and setting a few seeds under the surface.
I was soon joined by the farm cat who tried to take a nap on my back as I hunched over the buckets.
After planting some cabbage and greens, Linda handed me some broccoli plants that had sprouted in pots and needed to be transplanted to a larger plot of land to thrive. I broke up the ground, reached into the broccoli pots, gently removed them from their tiny homes, being careful of the roots, and set them in the holes I had made in the ground.
As I reflect on my time at the garden, and on the struggles I have been wrestling with over the past few weeks, God revealed some beautiful gems.
I cannot put new growth into the ground without tilling the soil, breaking up the hard ground that has been built up over time through storms and heat waves. I cannot plant seeds without getting dirty. I cannot make space for new growth without pulling up the weeds that have overrun the garden.
Gardening my heart is hard work.
It turns out that ground I thought was soft and ready for new seeds, new growth, is actually still littered with weeds, hard in some places, rough in others, unprepared. I thought I was coming to Mission Year to get some pointers, some direction on how to do intentional community. I did not realize I was coming to Mission Year to re evaluate who I am and where I find my value. I did not realize living with six other people would be so difficult. I did not realize how hardened I can be when I clash with others' lifestyles and expectations. I did not realize how important a clean house and clean dishes are to me (ok, maybe I knew this one, but I didn't know how difficult it would be to live with others who have different expectations).
It turns out, there is a lot of ground that needs to be plowed and prepared for the growth that is to come.
I was soon joined by the farm cat who tried to take a nap on my back as I hunched over the buckets.
After planting some cabbage and greens, Linda handed me some broccoli plants that had sprouted in pots and needed to be transplanted to a larger plot of land to thrive. I broke up the ground, reached into the broccoli pots, gently removed them from their tiny homes, being careful of the roots, and set them in the holes I had made in the ground.
As I reflect on my time at the garden, and on the struggles I have been wrestling with over the past few weeks, God revealed some beautiful gems.I cannot put new growth into the ground without tilling the soil, breaking up the hard ground that has been built up over time through storms and heat waves. I cannot plant seeds without getting dirty. I cannot make space for new growth without pulling up the weeds that have overrun the garden.
It turns out that ground I thought was soft and ready for new seeds, new growth, is actually still littered with weeds, hard in some places, rough in others, unprepared. I thought I was coming to Mission Year to get some pointers, some direction on how to do intentional community. I did not realize I was coming to Mission Year to re evaluate who I am and where I find my value. I did not realize living with six other people would be so difficult. I did not realize how hardened I can be when I clash with others' lifestyles and expectations. I did not realize how important a clean house and clean dishes are to me (ok, maybe I knew this one, but I didn't know how difficult it would be to live with others who have different expectations).
It turns out, there is a lot of ground that needs to be plowed and prepared for the growth that is to come.
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