Foliage of the soul.

So we started this garden.

Living with three other chicks, it simply wasn't an option to kill the nest of baby rabbits we found in the thicket we were clearing to plant our garden. Yes, even though we knew that rabbits are the antichrist of vegetable gardens. We bought cutesy gloves and weeding tools. We spent far more money than I'd like to admit on stones and wires and stakes for "bunny-proofing". We then threw 14 kinds of seeds into the soil which was previously home to a weed jungle. We huffed and we puffed and then we stood back to see what would  happen.

It's about two weeks since planting day. Thinking we're probably not watering enough. Noticing that the most successful foliage resembles the type of weed we spent a week uprooting. Reflecting on how excellent a metaphor for life gardening is.

I'm not a tree-hugging hippie, but for all intents and purposes, from here on out, the "garden bed" is going to be used to illustrate the concept of the "human soul".

It's amazing how ridiculously overgrown with useless, ugly gunk we let it get before do anything about it! How often do we completely underestimate how much work it's going to take to cleanse it of the bad and make room for the beautiful. How often does dealing with one thing lead to a bajillion other, deeper, more difficult issues we could never have expected when we started trying to fix things. How often do we really need the help of someone else that we're too proud or shy or ashamed to request. We realize that it's hard to get rid of the cute and furry little things that we know aren't good for it but still let them stay because they don't SEEM like an aggressive or vicious problem. There should be balance and variety. It should be full. We know what it is that we want to grow and nurture in it, but really have no friggin' clue how to make it happen.

A big thing I'm realizing is that there's only so much we can do. Yeah, we have to put our blood, sweat, and tears into clearing, planting, safe-guarding, and watering. But then you have to give the rest to God, to the mysterious unknown, to the risk of both failure and success. We have to do our part in the tending, but ultimately, it's not us that makes the miracle happen.

It takes a long time. No, you can't have your bell peppers and chives tomorrow. I know - "Damn it!" Yeah, the weeds still creep up and get in the way of the veggies you're trying to yield, but taking it day-by-day will prohibit losing it again to the undesired gunk. It can be beautiful with care. You'll have something worth sharing in the end.

It's worth it - every painstaking moment.

There is nothing more glorious than growth.