Growing Hope

As I struggle with losing my ability to do so many of my favorite pastimes, there are a few I’m holding tight to. Gardening is one of them. A sweet friend offered to get the seedlings I had been nursing into the ground for me, but I held tight to believing I could do it myself. I so much wanted to feel the warm earth as I babied my sprouts and seeds into the ground. I do not by any means have a green thumb, but have managed for a stretch of years to grow a number of vegetables for my family right in our backyard. I’m missing the Colorado sunshine, but trying to figure out what works here.

I don’t know what it is, but watching things grow has always felt so sacred to me. It truly is a miracle to see tiny dried out seeds change and grow into something beautiful. It brings me such joy. The warm soil, gentle sun, and fresh colors of green make me feel as if I’m in a breathtaking cathedral.

Too weak to stand, I carved out my own small slice of land and sat in the dirt, covered in afternoon sun, and gently pressed seeds and seedlings into the earth. Watching them sprout and grow bigger is bringing me so much delight and satisfaction. Here’s hoping for a harvest, but either way, the working of the soil has been therapeutic for me in beautiful ways.