Today was one of those days.
You know the kind.
The kind of day where you look around your house, make a list of the things that need to be done at home, at church, in the community. Errands need to be completed, communications need to be made. The kind of day where your list is growing faster by the minute and you’re not quite sure where to begin. The kind of day where you have a nasty sinus infection and fall asleep for four hours, while the laundry multiplies all by itself in the laundry room, the dishes once again refuse to wash themselves, dinner takes longer to cook than it should and you’re hoping, as you enter dreamland, that your kids won’t burn anything down.
And your list never gets completed.
That was my day. Frazzled and overwhelmed.
I grabbed what space was left in my spirit and sought Jesus. For strength, for guidance, for wisdom, for patience, for prioritizing, for healing. I needed it all.
In a few quiet moments alone, while Jeremy took his turn carpooling, I took an opportunity to walk through our gardens.
My herb garden, nestled in the corner of our landscaping. I stopped here to cut some asparagus that had gotten very much out of control. I took some time to take in the color and gentleness of the violets strewn throughout the herbs. I ran my fingers through the thyme, smelling it’s refreshingly, good smell.
Anna’s herb garden, so carefully planned out and kept free from weeds.
Our vegetable garden, which sustains us through the summer months, and if we plan correctly and harvest properly, will sustain us through the cold months of winter.
Kaitlyn’s berry patch promises fresh blue, red and black berries. It’s beautiful.
The little garden surprised us this year. It grew lettuce all on it’s own. Dead seeds that had life breathed into them when the warm spring rain and sun began to wake them from their slumber. Perfect.
Doing exactly what God created them to do.
Created to produce life.
Surprise tomatoes grew in random places around our house. Leftover seeds from last year, once again creating life this season just as they had in the past.
The pumpkins are growing nicely. The Kohlrabi is gigantic. The broccoli has been harvested. One tiny cucumber and one little green pepper have been picked.
I rounded the corner to the tomato patch. They are beauties in and of themselves. Growing tall and straight, soaked with the anticipation of cutting into them one day soon, allowing the fresh juice to coat our fingers. These barely new tomatoes are smooth and round. They are growing just as they should.
I sought the pepper bed, observing the carefully crafted edging, the rich, brown soil as it houses bugs, worms and roots-all things necessary inside for what grows on the outside. The pepper bed is planted with purples, greens, reds, hots, and sweets. It will one day soon be a rainbow of edible colors. Natural, healing, living colors.
I stooped to touch our tiniest plants. The jalepanos. Among the leaves, stems, and tiny white buds, I found a tiny, gorgeous electric purple and white jalapeno blossom. It’s color that which could have only been painted by a Master. It hung there, face to the ground, preparing to birth something greater than it’s size.
These gardens give me hope.
Hope of a new try again tomorrow.
A reminder that life does indeed go on. The plants still bloom. The fruit still comes. The sun still sets and the moon still rises. The dawn will explode onto the horizon once again.
This little plant reminds me that the work done under the ground, the work that no one sees, has purpose. That in all of life’s craziness beauty can be found, sometimes we just need to stop-its often the only time that beauty can surprise us.
Regardless of what my day might look like, despite what I may be feeling inside, with no matter to what does and doesn’t get crossed off the list, I needed to be reminded that it’s okay to stop and take a deep breath, to love the life I live. It’s okay that we don’t get our to-do lists completed. It’s okay that dinner is late.
It really is okay.
“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?” Matthew 6:28-30