Stories of Home - #2
Sacred spaces..
If I give you a picture of my garden I give you a sacred piece of my heart.
The truth is it’s scattered with memories and people that I love. People who have mattered to me and still do. Some have left us.
The bigger truth is that I was so near wanting to die in 2020 that my husband didn’t know what to do so he kept building things. Frantically, he works and builds running at arm’s length of being caught up in reality. This is what I give you. This is how I help you. A garden, a workbench, a way to climb up the beanstalk and back again.
There is much to understand about love language.
I write my way through life now and honestly it’s to ground me. Keep my head up, fingers in the dirt and acknowledge that I am on the tipping edge more often than I’d like of either running away from everything and everyone or acknowledging that there is a God in charge. Please stay inside of the day.
Scattered in my garden are summers on Roads End collecting agates and seashells, scurrying up the trail, wind-swept, anticipating hot tea. Symbols of love. Traditions that hold time. Old bottles my husband brought home from digs in the former Los Angeles underground, a reminder of shovels, bad backs, battered hands. Treasured pottery from my mother-in-law, her mother and my mom, and several gifts given to us from our daughter during high-school pottery class. Wind-chimes sounding in the breeze, purchased many years ago, found in a box, old garden sculptures from the former owners, metal art, and the story of us.
I see my mom in her garden.
There is life in my garden. I need life.
Sea air, beach walks, although I do not live by the sea. Reminders of faces at the table. Wonder at the potter’s wheel and happiness to receive or find such treasures. Cups of friendship. Humility and gratitude. History which speaks of similar times, under the sun, hidden in old glass. Birds chattering on wires, lizards scrambling and squirrels telling me I have dogs. Sirens speed up and down my street, chimes chime and I hear the faint voices of children playing at school. There is a little girl helping me in my garden, people calling or stopping by. Time. Voices in my head not asking of me but the want of friendship. It’s natural and fulfilling as I battle a twisted sanity in the garden.
When the summer sun forces you to reach upward and cry out, I will shade you.
When the rain doesn’t stop I will help you run for cover and pray you make it.
Sitting in my garden.. you are inside of my cocoon with God. Not a simple or replicated share but rather a breakdown of a unique mental puzzle.
Everything has meaning.
A constant revival of what is and how it will evolve to be.
Where is your cocoon? What brings you sacred life intermittent?
WOW ! I always wanted to garden. My older brother Wes does and loves it. I unfortunately did NOT get the gene. :) I have a Black thumb except for growing African Violets. Go figure! anything else nope, nada. I planted Roses and other flowers in a bed I made myself when we bought our home in 2004 in Mississippi. They did ok but I had to leave them alone. As far as I know they are still there. when I got my first apartment at 19 I started with One pot of African Violets. in a year I had over 50 pots on a HUGE flower stand. I finally lost the last one at 45. I was on vacation and it didn't get watered and died. But no telling how long it could have gone on and made more. I would repot and give them away to people who needed a boost and did it for about 25 years. I used to say it was my way of spreading love and sunshine. Today my only thing growing is my own growth which has been quite wonderful. Going from not wanting to go on in late 2020 to having a life, job and friends I enjoy everyday. God has carried me through and I came out the other side happy and fulfilled. and I know anything else I need he will provide so I just turn it over to him and let him provide in his time.
After all he sent me you My sweet encouraging friend. AS always I enjoyed your writing and wait for more. :)
Writing and gardening are two of the best therapies to nourish a troubled soul. Reading a captivating novel is also another remedy that helps. Do whatever helps to anchor you, while you have the ability, talent and motivation.