Tending a Fall Garden

Every year, springtime produces in me an irrepressible urge to stick my fingers in the dirt. I spend hours preparing the soil, poring over gardening books, shopping the local nurseries, and finally planting that year’s new baby plants. Throughout the spring and into the summer, my family laughs about finding me out in the yard “talking to my flowers.” One summer, my mother complained I was sending her more photos of my flowers than of her beloved granddaughters.

Throughout “garden obsession time” every year, my journal is filled with thoughts about the many parallels I find between gardening and my spiritual life. I love the verses in John 15 where Jesus reminds us we must stay connected to him, the vine, to live an abundant life. This is a beautiful illustration of the necessity of nourishment to bear the fruit we were designed to produce. I remember who ultimately brings transformation and growth in my own life when I realize the only part I play in creating the flowers in my garden is my willingness to show up, get my hands dirty, and plant the seed. Anything beautiful that grows is a gift of God’s grace.

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But then summer ends and fall begins. My garden is looking pitiful right now. The weeds are taking over, the spent flowers need to be cut back, the whole garden is screaming of my neglect. What happened to my gardening fervor? I continually think I’ll wait until the perfect time to get out there and do the fall gardening chores, but that day never comes. It’s too hot, too wet, or I don’t want to get started because I’ll get dirty and I need to go somewhere soon. Gardening just isn’t as much fun this time of year.

Just like my fall garden, sometimes our spiritual lives aren’t fun anymore. The spiritual growth spurt and deepening understanding of God’s grace we experienced last week seem to have disappeared. We don’t feel that overwhelming sense of God’s presence like we did last month. We can’t hear his voice when we pray, and the Bible passage we just read makes no sense at all. This whole God thing doesn’t feel as good as it did before. And since it’s no fun, our spiritual lives start to suffer from the same neglect my garden is experiencing.

But I’m learning from tending my fall garden. The work I do today, even the decidedly un-fun stuff, is laying the groundwork for next spring. Clearing away the debris, pulling the weeds, and cutting back the faded blooms are all necessary parts of the process of preparing for the next season of growth. And every fall when I reluctantly get my lazy, procrastinating behind back out there and start working, I find some joy in the process. Not the springtime kind of joy, but a quieter, expectant, trusting-that-spring-will-come-again kind of joy. Without fail, spring does indeed come again, and I am reminded of why I love gardening so much.

So maybe some useful parallels can be found in my fall garden. Perhaps it would be helpful to think about what weeds we need to pull or what debris we need to clear away the next time God seems far away. And perhaps we can learn to trust that the difficult, often monotonous work we must do in our relationship with God sometimes is part of the process of preparing for the next season of growth. For just like my daffodil bulbs hidden beneath the earth, God is always at work in us, preparing us for the next springtime in our spirits.

Kelly Johnson is a counselor, writer, speaker, and advocate. She leads a weekly Bible study and serves as chair of the board of directors at a local shelter for the homeless. Married to her high school sweetheart, she is the mom of two college-age daughters. Kelly writes about life, faith, and her newly empty nest at kellyiveyjohnson.com.

Photograph © Clem Onojeghuo, used with permission