Imagination on a cold day

The morning was cool enough for us to build a fire in the fireplace this morning.We snuggled under warm, fuzzy blankets and made up tickle games until the fire took the edge off the cool house. You know it is one of those silly mornings when you try to make each other laugh with "who has the stinkiest morning breath." Yes, we are a bit wacky that way. The sun shines brightly in the yard looking warm and inviting. It plays along the kids' jungle gym dancing through the shadows of the sentinel tree,guarding the precious dirt from the invading grass. Dirt is so much more precious because it can be made into mountains and forts with just a little water, squished between toes, or a trap that tries to suck you down; only to be saved by your heroic sibling. Grass is a forest that too many things become lost. Dirt is the treasure.

My daughter has passed me several times with her baby cradle, shushing me because the baby is asleep. The logical mind will tell you the cradle is empty. Yet, in earnest she will continue to shush me because the baby is about to stir from slumber. The cradle tilts a little too far in her arms and she gives chase to the runaway baby. In a swift, gentle scoop the baby is caught once more. She takes a small piece of fabric and tucks her baby warmly in her cradle to brave the chill morning air. My dear returns a few minutes later to remind me I must watch over her baby as she runs to the store. Her baby will need to eat and there is no bread and cheese. These are her staples. I ask if I may go, too. She says I can, but I must walk as I am too big to fit in her car (tricycle). Imagination can only carry us so far.

On the flip side, my son has taken a large stick as tall as himself and aims at every robot that has come to destroy our backyard. We must be overrun as he chases frantically around the yard to ensure every last one has been brought to justice. He finds more "tools" in the yard to build his own robot. Then maybe it serves better as a fort.Sitting at the end of the slide, he surveys the yard, "gun" resting on his lap. There are must be too many as he tries to recruit his sister. The soldiers are coming and sister cannot help because she must feed her baby and bring her in out of the cold. He is left on his own to fight the good fight. He has decided that war comes at too high a price to keep focus. It's time to build. Digging in the precious dirt. Building mountains. Finding bugs beneath the surface and small treasures left behind by the previous owner's dog.

My daughter has even convinced my dear son that it was not kind to knock the cradle over in his haste to sit on the couch. He gently picks up the cradle and whispers his apology to his sister and the baby. He leans in and gently kisses the baby and places the cradle back in place. She leans over and coos the baby back to a nap. So much to do on a cold day with sticks, dirt and an empty cradle.

I am off on my own adventure to tackle the mess little imps must have left sometime in the night. I was sure it didn't look like this yesterday.

Turning the earth, churning me

It's been a long time since I last wrote, but today I had a rare privilege to indulge my dream of being an excellent gardener. The area along the front wall of our home was nicely groomed by our previous owners with blooming bushes, gentle flowers beneath, and an assortment of greenery I'll never be able to name. In time, the weeds grew and much of the cultivated beauty was choked and replaced with a new green. I let this "greenery" grow and pretended they were flowers adding "beauty" to the garden. Then the frost, so foreign to Texas, came hard and biting. Much greenery was lost. A couple shrubs with shallow roots withered against these harsh elements.
So, today I realized all this vegetation in my front yard was not "lovely" greenery to add to the ambiance of a cozy home, but the clustered, struggling mass of life trying to bloom. Beauty is in there. I just had to find it. I didn't use gloves. I have these terribly small hands that make it difficult to work in the yard with gloves. I feel like a kid playing dress up with mom & dad's clothes. I really got into the grime and slime that was the earth in my yard. The kids helped for a time (but gave up after the umpteenth worm, centipede, millipede, beetle, etc. mom showed them) and went on to other ventures. After persuading them not to uproot the well established tree in our yard or the neighbor's yard and convincing them that the clumps of dirt dug up would not perfectly fill in the drainage ditch, I returned to my little plot of earth (don't worry, by this time they were thoroughly entertained by the neighbor's wonderful teenage nieces). All I had was a spade and a mini rake (ok...I'm not a gardener and I don't know the name for the rake looking thing that helps to aerate the soil).
The first to go were all the shallow-rooted weeds growing in the little tufts to make their presence known;sort of like a balding man with really bad hair plugs. Then carefully sloughing of the layers of leaves - crumbling dry, pliable and soft, to the moist almost slimy lower depths. I took the little rake and tossed up the dirt underneath. The sweet smell of the earth was so full of promise. Clean, sweet, mildly acidic, and so much movement within. Here is were the life begins to take root. I tossed, turned, twisted the dirt to bring as much of the warm light and air into soil long abandoned to the cold, dark recesses of winter. I began to dig deeper to find more hidden weeds trying to find stronger footing, and even further...the solid clay that makes up most of our land. It was good work. I felt relaxed, I felt rejuvenated. As if I was churning up the soil in my winterized soul. All the layers of laziness and complacency weighing down. How had I let myself get this way?
It was God's way of showing me that was I much like this garden. I had abandoned this garden that is me for quite some time. Tossing on the dry brittle leaves of "getting by" over layers of "procrastination", over the slimy layer of "umm, what?." My abandonment of taking time to sit in quiet solitude with Him froze out the new revelations I had been learning; shattering before they had chance to take root. Those brittle leaves flared up my anger with the slightest puff of air. Letting the few words I remembered to get twisted into a slimy goop of nonsense that even my children wouldn't listen. In those quiet two hours, I began to hit the surface of rich, fertile earth. A peace and calm. Life moving, shifting; finding it's way to the surface. Time to dig those roots deeper. Time to find the warm comfort below the shallow cold. To feel secure in the solid foundation that lies beneath it all. I've' not completely cleared my mess of a garden, but I'm not completely cleared either. My garden that is me has gone through many tosses to get to rich, fertile soil. I was often surprised by it. Many times devastated. Thinking no way anything could grow here now. There is much sloughing, digging, tossing, replenishing, and replanting that needs to go on. This time I am ready for it.

Spring is coming... are you ready? will you be surprised? Now is a good time to start tilling the soil to let new seeds grow. Sometimes you will have to push hard past the cold, unyielding crust that has built over your winter season, but do no fear...spring is coming.