Growing me in the garden.

I am a learning gardener. I'll admit to anyone that while, walking the road with my Aunt Nancy or either grandmother, I learned the names of lots of plants and flowers, and I enjoyed the process, I am just beginning to know anything. I took in lots those years ago, but I had to learn so much by default. Once I moved into my own apartment and worked in advertising I was in constant learning mode. Then, I was a trainee in a huge international agency and was expected to learn and learn and learn and perform. It was a decidedly difficult position -- learning while directing others, but I digress. I share it to say that much of my brain space during those years was  dedicated to work and then, of course, learning about my life as an adult.

So, I'll ask you to forgive my many gardening foibles because they are simply my truths: I tried to grow Gloxinia and Delphinium indoors. I killed three ficus trees (also indoors) because they needed sun (too). I expected flowers from non-shade plantings in the sun and forgot to water plants like hydrangea (the name didn't provide enough of a hint for me).

But in my dedication to trying and learning, I started keeping notes here and there and gained understanding that sun at the base of a plant is important. That noticing when and where the sun landes during the day predicts a plants success -- if success is a flower show or fruit.

A couple of years ago I went all out near the end of summer, when the Coastal Eddy, which brings May Gray, June Gloom and that year July haze, had departed. I nurtured some of the plants through into spring replacing the waning summer plantings with lettuce and broccoli.

It was fun. Not a heavy task, but fun.

I commented to a friend at one point that I was learning a little about myself in the nurturing and the weeding. There's much to be said, perhaps on another occasion, about the pulling of weeds and even spent favorites, for the sake of what's taking hold and growing. It's a useful metaphor, chock full of thought and intention and understanding.

This year, the older, wiser, longing gardener in me was blessed with a brilliant opportunity. The lengthy story about invading roots from a neighbor's fig tree stands in the background, but in this process, grass was removed, watering slowed and new garden spaces were added. My main garden, a cottage-style rose and this-and-that garden was rethought to roses and herbs, arugula and broccoli, brussels sprouts and carrots and onions and strawberries.

Much of his occurred in late fall and there was all this "patch of dirt" business around, that I was inspired to tuck some sprouted Sweet Peas, Sweet Pea seeds, English Peas, carrots and arugula into the ground. I had plenty of extra seeds so after the garden patch planting and also planting here and there I waited. That was November and yesterday, the first of March I cut my first two purple Sweet Peas and displayed them on my mantle. While planting a blueberry plant, I snagged one of the last carrots and discovered the English Peas. (I haven't learned to mark them -- thought they were small Sweet Peas with tiny flowers.)

Later, as I hid tulip bulbs deep into the pot where they'll gestate, I thought this: I am experiencing such joy in patience. Nurturing joy, nurturing expectancy, nurturing love for the task. As a mom,I don't miss the analogy to carrying a baby, but truly, more importantly I see that God is teaching me -- experiencing the fruits (I didn't miss that) of His Holy, Holy Spirit.

Love. (of the project, the process, the fruit)
Joy. (in the planning, the doing, the waiting)
Peace. (in the early morning, birdsong filled stillness as I observe)
Patience. (as I wait with great expectation and thrill at the movements)
Kindness. (my God provided all of this for my benefit)
Goodness. (a Potager garden is full of goodness -- in flavor, in nutrition, in sight)
Faithfulness. (in the watering, the tending, the weeding, the visiting)
Gentleness. (moving a vine, lifting a berry)
Self-Control. (see Patience -- waiting for the bud to bloom, the fruit to ripen)

He's growing me in the midst of all this fruitful beauty.
And I'm learning from my Father in the garden.

A new year

This year, a few friends and I are spending our time in Dr. Stanley's Life Principles Daily Bible.

I'm excited. I love spending time everyday in the Word. And when I say love I mean love. (I'm very aware that we overuse the word love and I'm working to be aware of how I, specifically, use it.)

I was talking with Lori and Tami the other night and they were discussing how they felt a couple of experiences that seemed like the presence of the Holy Spirit. They'd been to a retreat in a city far away and had words of prophecy spoken over them and as they told about how each of them had felt, then and later, it seemed very familiar. I've had experiences where I've felt overwhelming joy and enthusiasm and a closeness to God's Holy Spirit. As they spoke, I was secretly, quietly, exploding with joy. This is what happens when I sit at my kitchen table and spend time intentionally with God in His word.

So here I am in the middle of January, playing a little catch-up, but falling right in to the daily practice of a cup of tea, (or java), this Bible, my book and pen and some pretty candles. It's a nice setting. And I have great anticipation.

Join in any time. Jump in in fact. And do share your thoughts and experiences in a comment or so.

We are so blessed to have the Word in our hands. What will our Father do with us as we go this year?
I, for one, can't wait to find out.

Fear.

THE BETTER YOU BECOME ACQUAINTED WITH GOD, THE LESS TENSIONS YOU FEEL AND THE MORE PEACE YOU POSSESS. - Charles L. Allen

I'm taking an online journaling and class. Within the first couple of days, I was required to face some small fears. Tear a bunch of pictures out of a magazine. Pictures of things I like, places I'd like to be, and the like. I was then to make a collage of them, take a picture and put them up on the class website.
I felt the fear creep in when I started gluing the pictures down. The questions became, "Can I do this? Can I pull the picture back up if I don't like it? What if they don't all fit? What if it doesn't look good? This is an art class after all." And it went on. I was happy with the outcome and was equally happy to put it up on the page. And when I was finished, I wondered, "What was all that?"

Is this really my process? To listen to the somewhat-motivating self-doubt? Is that what pushes me toward a good product? Could I get there more joyfully? There was joy in this process, no doubt, but what is all this fear?
As I worked forward in the class, the assignments have required my attention and have summoned even more fear. I'm a "nose-to-the-grindstone, work-it-out, whistle-in-the-dark type." In some respects, my perspective is to take it on and move through.
But, I'm keenly aware that fear might not be a gift, after all. There should be joy.

This morning I read from the Psalmist:
You have given me greater joy than those who have abundant harvests of grain and wine. I will lie down in peace and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe. -Psalm 4:7-8

Oh yes. The Author of my faith has given me greater joy. His perfect love is promised to cast out fear.

Perhaps I need to do what I'd tell my kiddos or you to do: Invite the LORD into the process. Sit at the art table (which in my case, is the kitchen table) and ask Him to reveal what His gracious Holy Spirit wants to reveal. Allow Him to work through this process with me. Leading and guiding me into the art He has for me to explore and execute.

Oh my, what would I have to fear in that?
I'll report.