The Garden Alone...

I had these wonderful aspirations of sitting down to write every day, and it just isn't happening. But I think I need to be okay with that--I mean, life is hectic (for me, and for everyone else). The drive to write, for me, is frequently sparked in frustration or in a lack of feeling like I've truly expressed myself (most of the time). I write the most when I'm untangling drama in my head; lately, although there's been no shortage of drama, I truthfully just don't care about it. I have other things to think about.
I keep waiting for the "new mom euphoria" to fade, but it hasn't. :) Don't get me wrong--there are days when I'm home at 6, after being up since 4, and I'm exhausted; dealing with the dishes or the house is NOT on my to-do list; and the Tiny Human is in full Tiny-Tyrant mode. Those aren't smiling-happy-shiny-people moments...but I wouldn't trade them for the world.
In my heart-of-hearts, I am happy.
That being said, I don't have much fuel for angst-ridden writing right now...and that's a good thing. I'm learning to write in all aspects of my life...without deadlines...without unrealistic rules...without comparison.  So, sure, I said I was going to write every day. I've failed at it.
Again.
And I have to tell myself that's okay.
It's officially SPRING, which is my absolute favorite season. When I was in college, Autumn was my favorite. After losing Hannah, Fall has taken on a particular melancholy...although I appreciate it, and it's truly the most beautiful season, it will always be colored by bittersweet memories. My life has changed...Spring has sprung, in so many ways...
Green leaves...sunny skies...gentle rains...Even though here in St. Louis, where we have the most bipolar weather in the world, spring still brings with it the freshest smells, longer days, and the sounds of birds returning from their winter away.  I love it. 
Spring also means it's time for me to start working on my Garden.
I started gardening 3 years ago, per the advice of some close friends. They introduced me to the concept of raised garden beds. I live in an area where our dirt is AWFUL; it's full of rocks, and the chemical makeup makes it unsuitable for growing anything but grass. I don't have a tiller (or the desire to shred my back while using one), and my back yard turns into a mudpit during heavy rains, so raised beds were a genius suggestion. I bought two of them, put them together all by myself, and started my small garden back in 2012. The best thing about it, is the fact that every year I start my seedlings in the windowsill of my office. Even my bosses seem to be impressed at my use of space; my windowsill currently houses 80 seedlings that are growing unbelievably fast. They'll sit there until next month, when my Burpee app tells me it's time to plant...(BTW--if you garden, get that app! It's fantastic!)
When I downloaded my Burpee app, it asked me to name my garden. Hmm--that's an interesting thought.
I got nuthin.'
I actually thought about it for a few minutes: Did I want something Cute ("Cooley's Corner?")? Something Funny ("Gnome Home")? What's in a name?
The words to the old hymn came to mind..."I come to the Garden alone; while the dew is still on the roses. And the voice I hear, falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses...and He walks with me, and He talks with me; and He tells me I am His own (yeah, I know--you can't read that without singing it!)..."
When I began my garden in March of 2012, I had many doubts. After all, I can't grow anything. I've never had the patience...and the more I worked on it, the more I began to see what a metaphor it was for my life. I didn't think it would work--after all, everything I tried to grow, died...even my child...It was a horrible thought to have, and as I started my seeds, I prayed to God the plants didn't die. I couldn't stand the thought of investing so much, and having it flop. Maybe, just maybe, I could start over...I could try again. Maybe my hands could find something to cultivate....maybe I could see something come to fruition.
I was still, even 6 years after Hannah died, deeply hurt by her loss. I hadn't quite gotten to April of 2012, when for some reason, the love of God just clicked in my head. I still felt like God hated me, like He didn't pick me to be a mom. I was still really struggling with disappointment, with feeling like a failure...I started the garden, praying my heart of hearts that I wouldn't fail at this, too...like I'd failed at parenting...
Clarification: I knew that I really didn't fail at parenting. Hannah's death was a disease, and it was something NO ONE could have seen coming. I just couldn't unbury myself from that feeling, though, that I wasn't good enough to raise her, and that I'd failed her, regardless of the sermons, prayers, and lectures that said otherwise. It just hadn't clicked yet.
So, I started the garden. In March, April, and early May, things began to change in our house. Someone preached a sermon where they stated that just because you had prayed for a healing one time, and God didn't allow it to happen, didn't mean that you STOPPED praying for healing. That registered with me...faith began to grow.
I planted seeds...watered them...prayed over them...I knew they weren't a metaphor, but it just felt like it was...
Someone preached a sermon about the love of God. I'm not sure exactly when, but around that time is when I finally told my husband that I didn't think God loved me...I don't remember what he said, but something clicked, and healing started happening...
And the seeds turned into plants...
Spring brought changes in the house; we did a mini-makeover, and I got to redecorate the living room and kitchen.  We freshened up the house, we opened up some windows and added more colors, and the garden continued to grow beyond my expectations...
David isn't too into the garden. Sure, he eats the veggies, and will do some of the grunt-work when I desperately need him (I really struggle with the 50-pound bags. I can lift them, but the consequences are not good); however, it's mine. And the longer I have a garden, the more I appreciate the investment of time.  It's my alone time...
It's me and God...in the garden...alone.
It's where He speaks to me...it's where He breaths life into something that was dead.
I can't go into my garden without thinking of the times that I felt like a desolate wasteland, and  thinking of the time that He spent healing me.
I spent many years as a broken woman; anyone who has buried their child can relate. The process of coming out of that brokenness is long, and cannot be judged by anyone. And as far as I can see, the only way out is through Jesus.
After many years of winter, March and April of 2012 began a season of Spring in my heart. Just as seeds were planted, hope was planted and renewed...by the time flowers began to appear in May of 2012, I began to suspect changes were on the horizon...
Sure enough...in June of 2012 I discovered I was pregnant.
Spring began...and so far, in my heart, it's still going on. 
My seeds have been planted this year, and are already going crazy in my planters on my windowsill at work. I'm not sure how I'm going to manage working in my garden while taking care of my little one...I may have to invest in a little bordered "pen" in my yard, for him to be in while I work, on the days David works late. I'm not sure--but I know that I am excited as I think about all of the beautiful possibilities in The Garden Alone this year.
Time in The Garden Alone...time to teach my son about life...time for God to teach me more lessons about His love...
Time for Him to "tell me I am His own," for one more season...