In late December, the seed and nursery catalogs began arriving. I dove in. When I came up for air, I tried to remind myself I was planning a vegetable plot, not an eight-hundred square foot formal rose garden.
It is easy to get a little lost in a pile of seed catalogs.
These are the days for rest, both for you and your garden. Unless you live in Florida.
I’ve heard it said that southern gardeners should take their winter break in late summer. Which is sort-of true. No one can grow tomatoes in Florida in August. But, it is also not true at all. You may give your vegetable beds a break, but the grass, the weeds, and those horrible invasive vines covered in thorns do not take a break. Unless you want your house to disappear back into the primeval jungle, you had better not neglect the August garden entirely.
I only gardened in Florida for two years, but I am still recovering. As it turns out, I need a good long break from working my bit of ground.
I need a season for rest. I need a season for dreams.
Rest can be painful. A persistant ache. Dreaming hurts.
I love winter in the north, but I don’t find it easy. I long for sunshine. For warm air on the skin of my arms. For flowers and green grass and those little breezes that feel like a caress. It is a season for rest, but this means it is also a season for waiting, for desiring, for pressing hard against the blunt edges of everything you dream about but do not yet hold in your arms.
It is a season of emptiness.
True rest means returning to God. But this is not as easy nor as pretty as it sounds. It is often anguish that sends us back.
Back to the source of dreams, back to the source of every good and new thing.
Back to the only One who can renew our hope.
Love these thoughts. Do you know I facilitate retreats on Sabbath-living as I like to call it … Or listening to God. One of my first points is on resting and quieting our hearts and minds. I might incorporate your analogy next time.
Also loved those short sentences in your first paragraph. 🙂
Sue, I thought of you as I typed out that first paragraph! I also thought how much more revision this post could have used, but some days there just isn’t enough time for perfect. 🙂
“It is often anguish that sends us back.” Sad but true. Seems that is when my heart turns to God the most. I am quick with “thank you’s” sent heavenward. But the long and lingering times are usually forced forward from pain.
Love it, Christie. I’ve pondered this for a few years – that in Spanish, the verb for “to wait” and “to hope” are the same word: esperar. It’s brought a whole new paradigm to waiting…that it’s the opportunity for hope to build.
Thank you, Andy. I can’t believe I didn’t know this about the Spanish words (my Mexican-born mother-in-law would not be impressed). I won’t forget it though – such truth contained in a single word. Wow.
I am right there waiting… You put my thoughts and feelings into words so well. Thank you
Your spring will come, Lisa. I know it will.
“a season…for pressing hard against the blunt edges of everything you dream about but do not yet hold in your arms.” This perfectly describes the turmoil of waiting, and those blunt edges can make the dream feel so undefined. You just speak truth – perfectly edited or not ; )
And seed catalogs – what a harbinger of spring!
It’s true, Tresta. I want promises I can hold in my hands – certainties – but dreams are often vague. Beautifully, maddeningly vague.
Dreaming hurts. Huh. Yeah. I didn’t realize this–or hadn’t really experienced it until recently. This post speaks to the very space I’m in this season. Thank you Christie, for putting words to my melancholy. I’m waiting and grieving, and hoping and dreaming and it’s all a tangled mess. Thanks friend. Beautiful write.
Thank you, Kris. It’s true: unless a seed dies …
It seems we are a community of the waiting and the dreaming. I’m struggling with it right alongside the disciples listening to Jesus “come follow me.” And truly, I would love to know where we are headed.
Thank you as always, dear friend. I can’t wait to see you with the spring.
Yes, Summer, one more reason I am looking forward to spring!
I love your thoughts and I completely agree. I am a “do-er” and resting is uncomfortable for me. But it is in those seasons of rest that true growing occurs…. that is why plants also rest at night… that is when they grow. And sometimes when we rest we feel all alone, yet we are never alone. Jesus is always by our side…. walking along side us and carrying us when we are too weak to make it on our own.
Thank you for your post today. It speaks to my heart.
You are welcome, Cherie! I love your plant analogy. Perfect.
I love this, Christie. So powerful, and I needed to hear it (in the midst of my snow-covered landscape). Thank you.
I keep re-reading this and want to comment but words fail me. Because here I am, in Florida (in more ways than one.) You get it, I know you do. Thanks for this.
Such wisdom in this post and right here in the comments. I, too, am in a season of waiting, pressing toward the hope renewer. Thank you for giving this words.
Yes
Thought provoking through some deep reflecting. Thank you. Rest can be painful. Rest can be full of anticipation. Rest is necessary. Learning to rest and to not equate it with lazy or failure is not easy. Like a garden, like the soil, rest is needed to rebuild its nutrients in order to grow well.