gardening

Gardening is frustrating.

Worms and snails eat my pepper plants. Bunnies munch on my corn. Fire ants bed down in my veggie beds. Squirrels dig up my plants. And the broccoli I should've harvested two weeks ago is a one-inch stalk.

Gardening is frustrating.

"At least you're learning," both my mom and mother-in-law tell me.

Those crazy peas. Look at them winding around each other, clinging like they can hold each other up. I shake my head with an amused smile and guide their limbs so they can grab onto the trellis.

The squirrels--not so amusing (although I'm sure after I've covered my beds with cayenne pepper, they'll provide plenty of entertainment). More holes! And my poor seedlings. Another two bite the dust.

Some of you may know that a couple of years ago, I began gardening. Two years ago, I put in a small flower bed, and discovered a love for cultivating beauty in this way. Last year, I added containers with tomato plants, bell peppers, artichoke (which never grew), and herbs. I discovered a love for eating fresh from my backyard (or, side yard, rather).

Because she thought he was the gardener...

The Gardener hung on the cross to atone for the gardeners. On the third day, he rose from the dead, conquering the death and evil that swept through his garden.

He prunes us. He snips away the deadness.

He gives us life. We, the branches, suck nutrients, minerals, and the water of life from the Vine. The Gardener became the firstfruits of the resurrection for which the whole garden groans.

It groans.

We groan.