Creekside Garden

I blew the dust off my keyboard and told myself to write something beautiful.

Changing seasons always fills me with hope like nothing else. The unveiling of spring from the frozen waste of winter is an intoxicating experience. Some seasons fade into one another peacefully, but not Spring. Spring is born. And like birth, her arrival is messy. There is mud, ugliness, and intensity; but always hope in the beauty to come.

Life breathes again in the first green weeds and in the song of the meadowlark. Almost overnight, the hills are a roar of color. There is tangible sunshine in the daffodil’s bloom, scattered dandelions sparkle like glitter, blue gingham curtains flutter in the breeze.

Recently I have been working in my garden. Planting seeds feels like an act of faith. Tiny specks of apparent dust, laid out in the wild wonders of freshly turned soil. Seeds lay tucked into the earth, amidst the churning worms, creeping bugs, and rogue weeds. How is it possible that they will become something alive?

A garden is an act of faith in miracles.

Last fall, it was a cold and miserable October day when I planted out the daffodils. Death felt closer than life as the year wound down. Frost laid the last flowers low; it was a time of gathering in before the true freeze came, cold soil clung to my baby’s hands while he played by my side. As I planted those dead bulbs I wondered if they would make it through the winter, I wondered if I was doing it right. Why would I even take the risk if I had to wait to see results? The muddy scar in the dry grass bothered me all winter. What if they don’t grow?

Today, they stand there in their yellow glory and laugh at me for doubting their design.

I needed the reminder.

Recently I have wrestled with feeling like an underachiever. Why am I not blooming? I know I have potential to do more to succeed at something. But what? How? Where is the opportunity?

The time is not right. Right now, I am disappointed in my lack of “success”, but maybe now is a time of quiet waiting. Hidden away from the world, learning firsthand about God’s design for me. A plain daffodil root waiting for the seasons to change.

Perhaps you have felt this way, too. It is easy to look around only to fall down the rabbit hole of comparison in this age of social media and find yourself lost in the highlights of everyone’s lives. Suddenly, for no reason on a Tuesday afternoon, you might see something that makes you feel inadequate and left out.

To follow the example of the daffodil, perhaps I need to surrender to the seasons. Hidden away, allowing God to change me into the person he wants me to be. Trusting my life to the Creator who makes dead things live.

Writing feels like an important part of this season, something I am driven to keep doing. After I posted my blog on social media months ago, I was frozen by imposter syndrome. Fear of what people think kept me silent. Now, I am back to stringing words together in between saving my toddlers’ life for the 468th time in the last hour.

What would you all like to read about? Is there a subject I should focus on writing about?