And When They Might Not
My husband and I spend a lot of time outside in our backyard. For an urban yard, we’ve found a way to grow quite a lot: fruit trees and herbs and tomatoes and pumpkins and leafy greens and squash. I never really imagined that I would enjoy yard work so much, and I always thought that gardeners were exaggerating when they talked about a love of things that grow. But I am constantly drawn back to the soil and the mulch and the seeds, like there’s some source of truth there that I have to uncover.
And there is, a whole pile of truth that comes when you spend time cultivating the earth.
One of the most glaring lessons that repeatedly strikes my husband and me, is that we cannot makeanything grow. We can create the most ideal environment, manage the right conditions for temperature and pH levels in the dirt and water, and time things seasonally. And then you wait. You wait to see what’s going to happen with that one seed you pushed into the dark soil, and you wait to see if it will break open or not. It’s relieving and exasperating all at the same time. It’s up to me, and it’s not.
As professional helpers, I’m guessing you can see the connection here. But (and this is as much for myself as for you), how often do we live out of that place of planning and preparation and hope, and then wait to see what unfolds? At times, I try to force that seed open with as much encouragement as I can give. At times, I try to sit back and take the chance that the conditions will just magically become what they need to be for growth to happen.
But see, it’s both. It’s preparing and it’s waiting. It’s engagement and it’s letting go. It’s investing and it’s giving space. It’s doing 100% of your part, and inviting others to do 100% of their part.
And then let’s celebrate every time something new begins to grow.
In this with you,