Harvesting the Waiting

I imagined having Sarah, the mother of Isaac over for tea again today.

As she opened the front gate I noticed she was barefoot. “Any particular reason you decided to not wear shoes today?” She smiled and sarcastically replied. “Any particular reason you decided to stop tending to your garden?” I laughed because nothing ever gets past Sarah. Then I looked over at my drooping and thirsty garden in disappointment. She smirked and said “Don’t worry, it’s never too late to nurture a hurting thing. Gardens are incredibly forgiving.” ⁣

⁣As she sat down I looked at her feet, covered in dirt, proving her long journey to get here. “That doesn’t bother you? Getting your feet that dirty and bruised?” She giggled and said, “You see dirt and blisters, I see evidence of a journey.” I smirked and then squinted my eyes wondering if what I was seeing was real. “Wait, Is that a tattoo on your foot?!” She laughed and said “Yes it is. I got this while I waited for Isaac.” I shook my head because she instantly became more relatable in that moment...⁣

⁣I’m learning life’s most precious gifts are grown in the garden of waiting. And that for them to be whole and harvested, they must be intentionally tended to. I’m learning healing doesn’t happen by accident and that generations will soon feast on the fruit that was fertilized while waiting. And that waiting has this way of permanently marking our spirits, reminding us of the journey. I’m learning that the feeling of defeat when staring at a dead garden is only a small part of the story and that it’s the brave ones who return to the garden that will be rewarded with fresh hope. ⁣