The Gardener surveys the plot of land. Determined. Envisioning. Face set to the work at hand, yet soft.
The small plot doesn’t look like much. Barren and covered in weeds and years of straw. It has long since forgotten what it was like to be beautiful and full of life. It’s comfortable in the quiet stillness of apathy.
The Gardener lifts the tool. Strikes.
The soil shudders.
Strike. Pull. Scrape.
There are some coverings that are easily removed. Other roots go deep and have a strong grip around clumps of soil and rock.
The Gardener is persistent. Tugging. Clipping. Tugging.
On the surface, the fresh and constant falling of pine needles on the barren plot kept it looking somewhat put together. But the Gardener is no fool and knows what hides underneath. As the fresh needles are pulled back the hidden death below is revealed. Dark and damp and diseased decay. It clumps up and refuses to give up it’s place on the surface of the soil.
The Gardener quietly continues. Scraping. Scraping. Scraping. The rhythm of the tools at work slowly reveals what’s underneath.
The Gardener smiles.
Fresh soil peeks up beneath the mold and black.
The Gardener is not finished yet. More scraping. More hauling. More removing of the old that sat undisturbed for far too long. Eventually the plot of land is able to breathe. The soil never realized how choked it was until it finally breathed the free air and felt the rays of the spring sun.
The Gardener steps back to admire the work completed. And prepares for the next phase of labor:
I was recently encouraged to get back into the habit of regularly writing. This new series was abruptly birthed this afternoon as I worked on a little patch of yard that sits in front of my office window. I felt the whisper of the Spirit as I worked and I’m excited to see what else He reveals as this area of soil and my own soul transforms over the coming weeks.