I walked straight into the neighborhood garden store and the door swung closed behind me. The pungent, woody smell of fertilizer lifted my nostrils. One older man muted the television and turned to acknowledge me. I planted my palms on the worn counter.
"I'd like to grow a vegetable garden. I'm wondering what would be the best way to go about it."
He began answering, but slowly. He asked me about my plot size, soil type, deer, sun exposure, what types of vegetables I'd like
to grow, and then finally said what he had been thinking.
"But," he hesitated with a glance outside and then back to me with a puzzled look on his face, "there's snow on the ground."
"Right ... right. I was just thinking if there's something I can do now, you know, like grow indoors or something."
"You could do that. But you'd need a warm sunny place inside. Do you have that kind of space? Right, so for what you want to plant, I would wait a month or two and just plant in the ground. I mean there's snow falling right now."
I thanked him for his time and walked back out. My boots crunched gutter ice as I stepped into my car.
The last six months have been months of rest, letting things fall away and learning to be content with less. Sometimes I do feel content, but often I feel incapable, unproductive, and vain. I look at the things around me that I have tried to invest in, tried to start, and nothing seems to take on any momentum. Maybe it's my idealism, wanting everything to succeed. Is there something wrong with how I'm doing things? Or maybe there's nothing I can do about it. And if that's true, can I make the leap that God is really in control? That my life is a garden subjected to the weather of the Spirit and the tending of God?
"So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow."
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