Gardens grow in winter too!!!

I have had a little time to daydream today as I sit at the kitchen table while we do a planning session for the upcoming companions. We are stuck at the theme stage, so daydream is a must! 

Its rainy, cold and wet here yet there is still a beauty present in the air. Maybe as its we gathered together or the warmth of cuppa in hand laughing and joking about. Day of rest is pushing it a little too far for this Sunday, yet our heart is set in the right place with joy and praise in the right place. 

Yesterday B was in the garden planting a few new plants after talking about how the use of the "garden" is not really taken to full advantage. We sat dreaming of different plants we have come across and what could be. Walking the streets I have noticed how the roses are trim back, the greenery is in fine form as too the weeds, or shall we say seeds spouting in the wrong place. Its all looking a bit bare and exposed in places. Trees been cut or fallen to natures harsh winds. 

Gardens are born in winter you know!! Not only in dreams, but also in the messy work of tending small pots on windowsills. Planting seeds in cold soil with the wind hitting our skin with regret of trading knitted mittens for garden gloves, leaves a thought of when the end will be until the change in cloud formation. But if we wait for promising weather to sow our seeds, we will never taste the sweet produce or smell the blossoms in the coming months. 

Its hard to imagine sun when the crisp air hits the skin with a dullness in the sky lingering. In the evening eating fresh fruit salad admittedly from fruits from around the country, its a reminder of the dreaming of summer soaked evenings of sticky watermelon dripping off your hands; the taste of endless summer delights with a hint of sunshine to act like the cherry on the top. 

Yet winter has its only invite, to wait, to burrow, through formed by the season, we can journey home in whatever season we're in; each season teaches us more of the Kingdom of God - that is the gift. 

Often at this time our words give away to a need to move, to move inward to reflect. Through the glorious anticipation of Advent, the celebration of Christmas, Epiphany, there is an internal and external journey to embark upon. The footprints lay in the snow covered path that is lighten with candle light flickering under the moon. 

Its sweetness to the hearts rhythm to hear that gardens are born in winter. Because even if I do not have the magical sprinkling of snow, I do have the winters of the soul. There is not only dreams in the seed catalogs that lay before me, there are long weeks of work, of tending carefully to small, furtive shoots and sit with wonder if anything will grow. 

Yet I do the work. 

We just show up. 

We stand faithful, with numb hands and hope in the promise of spring. 

Im not a gardener and feel my apprenticeship needs to be taken back up, I do know as I water a small pot growing in our courtyard, that the shoots that arise are dreams of color, smell in the air of witnessing gathering in laughter and connection. Always, there are metaphors in the dirt and in the sky if we ask for eyes to see. 

Within the tiny seeds of winter, dreams of abundance curl like tiny promises. But for now, our job as garden tenders is to do small, unseen work and pray for the hope of rebirth. We wait… we pray that we can emerge from the comforting numbing oblivion of snow and for our desires to change… we pray that our inward burrowing will result in community growth not more self protection with literal and figurative fences. It feels like its time to tear down the fences and open the gates… why not spice up winter!! 

After all lets face it, our castles were never meant as castles or kingdoms. Symbols die when we lift them up, or place them at the Cross. Home making and garden tending are ways our bodies participate in the Lords Kingdom work; its all about the ache of glory and the promise that it will be satisfied at a glorious banqueting table where all will be made right. Good genes do not make good neighbors, but a feast sure does!!!

We wait with seeds curled in on themselves, as they do their work unseen, mysterious work in the dirt. We wait for the feat! We give words and pour out our hunger for feeling, the weight of glory as solid and real as an apple in our hand. Glory is born, too, in winter.