We planted a garden in May, not long before we trekked
across the country with our beautiful and precocious 5-year-olds to get
married, to laugh and play in the gratitude and wonderment of discovering a
life together. It was lots
of hard work in our back yard, literally spending hours pulling up deep-rooted
weeds that would choke out any new growth. We mapped out our hopes for that garden, went to the
local nursery to buy seeds and good soil, till-ed up that ground and helped it
become something new.
And then we
left for the Pacific Coast.
The rocky cliffs and crashing waves embraced us all as we promised to
face the future together, as we enjoyed the beauty of its beaches, ancient
trees, sea animals frolicking around us we kayaked along its shores. It was a week packed full of joy, tears
(joy and the occasional 5-year-old angst) and laughter. We came home to a sweet celebration put
on by friends that shared in our joy, a garden that needed weeding, and a depth
of contentment neither of us have known before.
Very soon after, the summer turned into a season that put
every one of those promises to the test.
It became a time of deep and wrenching loss that re-ordered the hopes
that went into the soil with those tiny seeds in May. Nothing went as we had thought or wanted or dreamed it would.
Whatever
is foreseen in joy
Must
be lived out from day to day.
Vision
held open in the dark
By
our ten thousand days of work.
Harvest
will fill the barn; for that
The
hand must ache, the face must sweat.
And
yet no leaf or grain is filled
By
work of ours; the field is tilled
And
left to grace. That we may reap,
Great
work is done while we’re asleep.
When
we work well, a Sabbath mood
Rests
on our day, and finds it good. –Wendell Berry
In these very beginning days of August, we are
exhausted. Worn out from the ten
thousand hours of vigil and grief.
It is the certainty of the promises we made on that rocky cliff that
have held us up, accompanied by the unending prayers of those who love us. And today, walking out to the garden,
making my way through the overgrowth of the garden to see what might have
preserved, we find this bounty of harvest. It’s a good morning.
We are held by all that has been left to Grace.
