Digging in the dirt
I am such a wimp. It has been so long since I’ve tended my garden that my hands are blistered and bruised from digging. Yes, I have a pair of gloves, but I’d rather feel the dirt and the pain than put on the gloves.
All the earth that is showing was covered with thick grass. I have miles to go, but am enjoying this so much that it just doesn’t matter. I’m planning to line the border with brick so my sweet husband doesn’t accidentally mow my plants.
Besides that tactile enjoyment of digging, God always reveals to me something more amazing about Himself while I spend time with His creation. He also reveals so much about human nature. I can be digging up a very naughty taproot and He will give me a picture of myself rooting deeply where I should not be.
There was a time when we struggled to get grass to grow in our front yard. The last couple years we have been thrilled because we finally got all the bare spots filled in with green luscious grass. I let it grow a bit too much (understatement) and now I am having to pull it out of my flowers. All that grass revealed to me that even a good thing I desire can be a bad when it is not kept within its bounds.
As God speaks to me through the dirt, the weeds, the blisters, I worship Him.