Spring: it’s fresh, green, and full of promise. It’s with optimism that I spend what time I can in the yard, clearing the debris from winter, preparing the ground, and planting both flowers and vegetables in the garden. What will this season of planting and new growth bring? Will there be the right amount of rain? Is the soil rich enough for what I’m planting? What about the sunlight?
So far, I’ve planted seeds for lettuce, a variety of peppers, onions, as well as various kinds of wild flowers – including seeds from last summer’s vacation in Alaska. The seed company sent complimentary packs of sun flower seeds with my order of vegetable seeds, so those were planted in the back of the yard along the deck. Last week, heirloom tomato plants went into the ground as well. So did some herbs. The winter was so harsh that none of the herbs made it through the winter from last year. This week – well, I’ll see what I find as I shop for more plants to fill the garden.
There remain some parts of the garden that need to be cleared and fertilized. I mix up the chores rather than complete each step at once. That’s because I can plant some things earlier and other things later. If I plant some areas early enough, that section of the garden may be clear for a second planting in autumn.
Each year, some of the things I plant do well and others don’t. To that end, I’m glad that gardening is a hobby. If I had to depend on what I grow as food throughout the year, well, I probably wouldn’t have much to eat. But each year, I learn a bit more and discover what things work best in my back yard. A variety of factors come into play: the quality of the soil, the amount of sun light, the moisture level, and, of course, the attention I pay to the things that grow in my garden.
Gardening is associated with spiritual practice in many of the great religions of the world. Japanese Zen gardens not only provide the gardener practice in mindfulness while caring for the garden, but Zen gardens are places of refuge for others to still the mind and heart while taking in the beauty of the garden. Many Christian spiritual writers use images of gardening in their writing, like the Spanish mystic Teresa of Avila and German mystic Gertrude of Hefta.
Rest assured that my skill as a gardener would never be confused with that of someone who carefully tends a Zen garden. Nor do I have the level of insight into the spiritual life reflected in the works of mystics like Teresa and Gertrude. But I do find many insights about the spiritual dimension of life through gardening.
When I go to the yard to work or even simply look over the garden, I go with expectancy and hope. I look to see something wonderful unfolding. Is there new growth? A new bud? Or something ripening? In much the same way, I need to approach my time in prayer and spiritual practice with a similar sense of expectancy and hope. Can I be open to allow something to bud in me? Do I have the patience to allow the fruit of the Spirit to ripen in my own life? Do I look for it? Or am I lulled to sleep by the routine of prayer and spiritual practice?
When working in the garden, the planting and watering are the easy part – at least I find them to be. The tough work is keeping the weeds cleared and keeping the ground from becoming dry and hard. It’s much the same with spiritual practice. It’s easy to allow oneself to experience joy and bliss. But the real work, the difficult stuff, is allowing one’s heart to be open to others, so as to live out the joy found in prayer. To do that means to clear out the resentments that I often cling to and to keep my inner life moist like the rich soil in which I plant.
As the garden begins to grow, it requires regular attention. A little time each day or two assures that everything growing is properly cared for. Missing a week or two means that plants aren’t watered and begin to shrivel, weeds take over, and plants begin to go wild. This is much like caring for the garden of the soul: a little time each day makes all the difference. Waiting until one has hours to spend in spiritual practice results in a lack of real growth that nourishes one’s life.
The lessons of the garden ring true for me not only for bringing good food to the dinner table but also as a reminder of my own spiritual practice. Both my garden and my inner life need to be kept free from the weeds that choke off life. There is the need to nurture, water, and provide nutrients for the garden as well as for my spirit. Most important of all is the gift of sunlight to cause the growth both in the garden and in my life. For the garden, the sunlight shines down with warmth; in my life, the inner light continues to guide me onward along the path through life’s garden.