I am once again in a season of planting.
Now, that may not sound like much, but you must understand, lately I’ve found myself fighting against the reality of this current season of my life. Against the constant-no end in sight-mundane tasks and needs that often seem to yield no great crop.
I imagined myself to be still in a season of harvest, but I’m not…..not yet.
Ten years ago, I was. It was a time in my life where reaping the benefits and results of the prior years was more prevalent. But I had to experience a time of planting, then a time of tending before harvesting was an option.
And here I am again.
Motherhood is still new to me, and I haven’t been a wife for all that long either. Along with planting and tending these kiddos daily, I myself possess tiny seeds that require time, care, and patience to grow well.
With three children under the age of four, and a fourth expected soon, the days can be exhausting in their repetition and demands. The task list is long, the nights short, and the daily work…..hard.
I have returned to a season of planting.
There is grace in that knowledge. Beauty in the slow, sanctifying process. Accepting that slow does mean fruitless, and mundane does not equal purposeless.
And that, ultimately, how and when the harvest is ready for reaping, is not in my control.
A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot! Rose plot, Fringed pool, Fern’d grot. The veriest school Of peace; and yet the fool Contends that God is not—Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool? Nay, but I have a sign; ‘Tis very sure God walks in mine.
Thomas Edward Brown