I’m fighting the blues today.
It isn’t one particular thing, but probably the toll from sustained uncertainty and stress.
I’m going to go work in what’s left of my garden.
I became a gardener when I was pregnant with Lydia and in the long process of diagnosing Christopher. It was a hard pregnancy. I was in constant pain and refused to take anything because I was really clear that birth defects were for real and I wasn’t taking any chances.
I remember putting Christopher down for a nap and then going outside and digging. My first attempts at gardening were beyond ignorant. I transplanted violets! But it was therapy as much as it was home improvement. I couldn’t control anything it seemed, but you better believe I could move around some plants. I could show them where to go. I could dig deep and uproot anything I wanted.
How do you surrender to provision and grace?
How do you simultaneously hold on and let go? I can’t always find the sweet spot.
Today, in the face of tremendous blessings, I feel despair.
I’m so weary.
So I’m going to put on my work clothes and invite a child or two to help me prune and dig.