jungles and metaphors

Just after Gideon was born, we planted a garden. 

Two days after we planted the garden, a crazy thick weed moved in and carpeted the plot.

Three days after the weeds moved in, you could not see the ground and we counted the garden a loss.  Our lives were too messy to dig and fix and cut and prune and… care.  Let this one go. It’s fine.  You will have another chance another year.

Last night, Curt and I put the kids to bed and found ourselves standing silently among the rows as the sun began to set.  As we looked closer, it became obvious to us that despite our neglect there was indeed life in there.

It is not what it could have been.  It is not by the book.  It is not completely whole.  But, it is alive.

I have been sad these past couple weeks… friendships have changed and not changed and I have changed and not changed.  Some are fine to be let go, as they were for only for a season. Some will change and survive that change and be better for that change.  Some will fall away and I will feel that loss deeply. 

I was wrong to assume the garden was a loss.  The ground and the dirt and the seeds… they are an old recipe that knows how to survive neglect and torrents and villains.  They are able to change, to bend, to adapt.  The smaller plants will melt back into the ground… making room for and feeding the bigger plants.  They were not a waste of time or money… or heart.

I’m not sure anymore… whether I’m talking about the garden or the relationships.

And, I suppose that’s right.