Sometimes Hope Has to Be Enough

I think I like this new posting interface. I just need to post a little more often to get used to it.

Spring is usually a season of great personal excitement for me because it is a season of promise. Promise of warm weather to come. Promise of school ending and greater freedom to do things with my family. Promise of growing things, of starting over, of scraping off winter's detritus to find new green shoots. This particular spring feels more stressful than usual. Preparing my garden and planting seeds feels less thrilling and more anxious this year. I finished layering the newspapers and compost in my garden, which makes it look rich and tidy. I got several rows of different kinds of vegetables planted, including some I haven't tried before (like leeks, Swiss chard, and soybeans). But instead of feeling proud of getting all of that done, I'm only feeling worried: will I ever get the bindweed and quack grass under control (never mind eradicated...that's not going to happen until after the Millennium)? Will those seeds really come up? What if ... Will ... how ...

Thankfully, my children have helped tremendously in getting the garden prepared. They are suggesting things to do and to try planting. They seem to feel a little more ownership in what is happening out there.

Perhaps my ambivalence this year has as much to do with how I feel about everything my husband Justin has been going through with his health: mostly overwhelmed. If someone had told me last October or November that Justin would still be in pain, trying to recuperate at his mother's, and not knowing what is still wrong six month later, I would have told them to just bury me now. I'm a person who likes to plan ahead, make lists (although some things seem to enjoy perpetual life on those lists, like laundry, cleaning my bedroom, and menu planning). I like to know how things are generally going to go. I prefer to be in charge.

Justin's health crisis has turned all of that upside down.

Some who know my situation more intimately probably question my sanity in even trying to plant a garden in light of the current circumstances. Including me. At one point there was some discussion of even releasing me from my church calling in Primary. I asked them to not release me. So why continue? I think it's a subconscious way of trying to exert some control. I can't fix Justin's insides. I can't take away his pain, insomnia, or exhaustion. But I have to DO something. And I need to do something that has nothing to do with doctors or medication.

Preparing the soil and planting seeds is an inherent act of faith, even in the midst of fear and a fair amount of hopelessness. In spite of fear and hopelessness. Maybe it is even to spite those negative feelings. So despite my anxiety over whether those seeds are ever going to amount to anything, I will walk through my garden daily, looking closely at the soil. Hoping.