I didn’t grow up with a garden in my back yard and thriving plants in my room. In fact I grew up thinking food grew in plastic packages and that green boxed chocolate cookies were a health food item.

In college my dad and I started a garden, he was a natural farmer and everything we grew bloomed. It was the first time I had really experienced the joy of the earth, the satisfaction in seeing the lifespan of the food on my plate. I was elated with our first harvest and became wildly in love with having my hands dug deep in soil.

It wasn’t just the cucumbers the size of my arm or the smell of fresh dill overwhelming me when I stepped outside that made it a holy thing. It was working with my father for the first time, it was my mother just months away from passing away watching with a smile on her face from the kitchen window. It was green rubber boots collecting sweat as my basket filled with success.

When I moved to Georgia I attempted to recreate this holy space in my many homes (no I don’t own many homes but I did move 8 times in a year). I worked hard to find places for plants to thrive, herbs to grow and tomatoes to bloom. But nothing was working, nothing was growing, and my outdoor space was nonexistent. So out of desperation I bought a bunch of succulents and cacti. I was determined to grow something and these little guys were meant to survive even the harshest environments.

It only took a few weeks for me to kill the most un-killable plants.  I started to see my succulents wilt and begin to rot, my cacti were shriveling up and falling apart. I merited their fast decline to the batch I had pulled them from at Lowes and decided to try again.

Multiple attempts and many lifeless plants later I quit trying. My supposed “green thumb” was not able to bring seeds to life without my father. It was his consistent care, his attention to detail, his knowledge of life that was able to produce a harvest. (Anyone seeing the parallel here?)

It took me awhile to realize that gardening actually related to so many other areas in my life. I’m a dreamer with a ever-growing list of endeavors. Each one I begin I attempt to achieve on my own. I plant the seeds and expect to see life with out the help of my Father (I’m speaking of the heavenly kind here), the creator or life itself. I overwater, I stop watering, I feed the seeds bags of “plant food,” I trim the dead and pull the weeds just like a good gardener is supposed to do. I see the seeds sprout and wither, I watch the death-resistent plants pass away and find myself deeply rooted in failure.

In a world that tells me I can do it on my own, sells me books on how to achieve my dreams, and talks me into believing there’s no one else I need but myself it’s the garden that brings me back to life. It’s the necessary disciple of pursuit that births growth. It’s the sun that breathes life into my labor and my Father who ensures my plants thrive.

It’s when my hands are in the dirt I remember to trust, I am reminded to hand over all the things I’m trying to grow on my own back to him and trust that He can and He will make them beautiful.

What are you trying to do on your own? What are you certain will succeed but you’re watching it wither?

I’d love to hear from you, love to pray with you, love to encourage you to press on and give it back to your Father.

“The only way that we can live, is if we grow. The only way that we can grow is if we change. The only way that we can change is if we learn. The only way we can learn is if we are exposed. And the only way that we can become exposed is if we throw ourselves out into the open. Do it. Throw yourself.”  -C Joy Bell