As I sit here at my desk this morning, with three feet of snow covering my deck and more falling in fat flakes from the sky, gardening is probably the last thing I expected to consider when I woke up today. But it’s funny how things happen sometimes... the path it takes to get me there, and the ways a word of spring can be spoken into the winter recesses of my heart. I needed that word. Garden. It’s a perfect word for me, which will be plainly obvious if you take the briefest glimpse over my website. But lets dig deeper than photography. What is it exactly... that I want this garden to be? What seeds do I want to sow? What do I want to nurture here now that I have readied it for planting? How will I find time (and what is my motivation) to plant, water and pull the weeds so that the harvest is plentiful?
My Prayer For This Garden
I remember when my middle son first started gardening. He's got his mother's heart. He sees well past imperfection and tends most carefully to those plants that are not doing so well, turning brown at the edges, drooping from lack of love and commitment, maybe having spent far too much time neglected on a shelf absorbing nothing more than false fluorescent light. He loves those plants most of all. When he was in preschool, his teacher told me that he had a gift for tending to those children who were on the fringes, and had trouble feeling like a part of the group. Even at that young age, I think there was a calling on his life. Similar to the calling on mine. Compassion. We both have a heart for the broken-hearted.
What an exciting word, full of possibility and focus. Now is the time to plant this garden of compassion. I love photographing flowers. But when I really stop to think about it, the garden I love most, consists of faces. Incredibly beautiful, emotional, imperfect, striving, wilting, thriving, glorious, fragrant, colorful, varied human faces.