grandriver

Tending to Gardens

I have this recurring thought of our lives as gardens. And in times when I find myself spinning in fears that I’ve squandered time or not done enough, that I start to picture my little garden as a swamp. Overgrown. Full of weeds and choking vines and worse sinking into the bog.

But…what if it’s not really that bad? Actually, I know it’s not—the claim otherwise is fear talking and we’ve quite had our fill of fear, thank you.

But I have let this garden fall fallow. And there are definitely some weeds to pull.

This particular little plot won’t be much. Streaming consciousness. Things we’re pondering. Just a voice that’s used to not facing the sun.

So we start digging.