I am intolerably forgetful. Despite this obstacle, I have more or less “tended” a garden for approximately four years. Often, the yields are minimal: a few carrots there, an occasional bunch of lettuce. The amount of work compared to the physical results can seem small; especially, when I forget to fertilize my plants for the entire summer.

So, why do I keep planting dozens of seedlings in May? Why do I schedule my summer plans around a little patch of cultivated soil? Great question. To be honest, I’m still figuring that out.

I think it has to do with the magic of it all. I dig a small hole and bury a sleeping seed. After gently spraying water on the surface for at least two weeks, a small, green curl will emerge. As long as it doesn’t get moldy, leggy, or dried out, the little plant that results will (by God’s grace) grow big enough to be planted outside.

Every time that happens, it’s a miracle! No amount of human will or ingenuity can create something so beautiful. Truthfully, it can be addicting. I can’t resist the opportunity to participate in the development of life. 

And so, year after year, I write up my garden plans and dream of a fantastic summer. I don’t think that will ever change on this side of eternity.