Sleeping Angels

My girls are leaving for a few days to spend the holiday with their dad. It's always a sad time for me, because whenever they go a part of me goes with them. I miss the feel of their touches, even the constant chatter of their high, piping voices. I miss the scent of their hair.

This morning, they were each curled up in bed, knees tucked into their chests. The curve of their cheeks is so sweet, it hurts. I am filled with the knowledge that each and every moment with them is unique and mortal. May they come home safely.

A Failing Garden

This year, I've experimented with a different schedule of fertilizing. My plants on that side of my garden are just simply not growing, no matter how much I water them. After running soil tests last week, I found out why: the dirt's got nothing. No potassium, no nitrogen, no phosphorus. Dead ground. But it isn't so easy as to just dump some fertilizer and walk away. Though the problem is simply and easily diagnosed, the solution is more complicated. We have to put the right fertilizers on at the right time and in the right way. If we are too busy or distracted to fertilize properly, our gardens will struggle.

It got me thinking about life and relationships. If we don't put essential nutrients into our relationship at the right time and in the right way, they often leach away. We can't give love in the way we expect to give love or in the way it is convenient for us and hope that it will enrich and nourish our loved ones.

Just the other night, I was playing on my phone trying to unwind for bed. My daughter kept pestering me. My frustration was rising as I tried to convince her to lay down quietly and go to sleep. Finally, it got through my thick skull: she needed me. I needed to unwind, but she needed my attention. My rising frustration was an excellent soil test: I needed to provide something to my relationship with my daughter that was currently lacking. So I put down the cell phone and cuddled her. Within minutes, she was asleep and I was able to go back to my reading in order to sleep myself.

May I learn how to better fertilize my garden and my loving relationships.

Vignette of a Difficult Night

weak darkness
aching night
wet pillow
dawning light
warm curved cheek
whispered sigh
softly sung
lullaby
loving smile
morning nigh
cuddled close
last tears dry

Clutter

Tonight, there are
dishes in the sink,
crumbs on the floor.
There is laughter,
fighting, crying,
begging, stomping.

Tonight there are
clothes on the floor,
unmade beds,
toys blaring tinny
music in my ears.

But tomorrow,
the kitchen will be clean,
the beds will be made.
There will be silence.

Tonight is chaos,
but not tomorrow.
Tomorrow is total peace.

Silence is a terrible price
to pay for a clean house.

The Garden

I have been trying to grow a garden in my depleted and miserable soil for about three years now, mostly because I have felt that with a third of an acre, I should take the opportunity to follow the counsel of the Lord and my own heritage. But I'm not that great at growing things any more. The first year, I got about six tiny tomatoes and a whole lot of chewed off stems. Last year, I got about a dozen tomatoes, some onions, a miniscule pepper and a whole lot of chewed off stems.

This year, things are looking a little more promising. The Snails (and if you met them, you would know why it is capitalized) are mostly gone. My plants are surviving, though not yet flourishing. I'm still having problems getting enough water to them, and I am frankly getting a bit frustrated.

Why am I spending so much time and money to grow something that comes quicker, easier, and tastier from the Farmer's Market?

As a single mom with too many projects, I don't get to weed as often as I would like. The morning glory, especially, is very thankful to me for creating such a nicely fertilized area to grow. Just last week, they were knee high, tangling up my pumpkin and tomatoes. Finally, I decided that I cared less about getting the girls to bed on time and more about freeing my choking produce. So I got down and started to weed in earnest.

The girls were playing nearby, exploring the wilds of my backyard. Eventually, bored of other pursuits, they wandered over to oversee my weeding. Up until this point, they have been utterly disinterested in my gardening efforts, despite my efforts to get them excited.

But Ely started asking me questions. "What is this? Is it a weed?"
"Yes, that is morning glory."
"Can I pull it?"
"Sure! Just twist a little, don't pull straight up. Perfect! Good job."
"I did it!"

And it went from there. Soon, she was enthusiastically quizzing me on the plants in the garden, how to pull the weeds, what kinds of vegetables we could expect, and why some of them died instead of growing. She organized her sister to take the failed radishes to the compost pile. She had dirt up to her elbows and ground under her nails.

As she was pulling grass out from between the peas, she said, "I can't wait until we get to pick some of this!" And I sincerely hoped we would this year.

"I like weeding, mom!"
"Good! I'm glad to hear it. Why do you like weeding?"
"It's fun to get dirty!" Go figure. "We should do this every day!"

And that's when I realized why the Lord asks us to garden. It isn't about saving money. It's about teaching ourselves and our children about life. Gardening is a metaphor, yes, but there is something magical about getting your fingers in the soil and following one of the oldest commandments.

"And the Gods took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden, to dress it and to keep it." 
Abraham 5:11

An Etheree of Hope

As
cold truth
pierces the
thin skin of hope,
it brings fear for friends,
terror of enemies,
but renewal of bright hope,
as one Truth shines more vividly
than any tiny, diamond-sharp
fact of coldly aging life,
warming the darkest night
spent in shuddered tears
and trembling death
of young hopes,
kindling
peace.

The Ugly

Imagine if someone loved you so well, that even when you were at your worst: cranky, horrible, frustrated, and unpleasant, and even if they didn't want to be around you AT ALL, they were able to just hold you, rock you, and softly touch your face.

This morning, Ria was terrible. Every "no" turned into a temper tantrum. Screaming at the top of her lungs, unable to calm herself down. For nearly a hour, I tried to speak patiently to her, I eventually lost my temper and yelled back, felt terrible and went to trying to soothe her again, all to no avail. For once, I was actually looking forward to the prospect of dropping her off at daycare.

We got in, and she was still gasping from the aftermath of her tantrum. I was running late, later than I've been before. I needed to get to work. But suddenly, I didn't care. I sat down on a tiny chair sized for toddlers, held her in my lap, rocked her and told her how much I loved her, and that everything was going to be okay. Before I left, she calmed down enough to be able to eat her breakfast.

I am so frustrated with my work in specific, and my life in general. I feel completely out of control, in trouble for things I have no control over. Pressured to do things a certain way by people. I don't deal well with feeling incompetent, incapable, and utterly lost.

I know, from experience, that the most innocent of mistakes have permanent consequences. I can't imagine being in a position where my weaknesses and ugliness shows, and having someone still want to hold me and love me.

But, for this morning, I was able to be that for my daughter. And that was almost as good.