For years, I have loved to have a little garden in the backyard. It’s nothing super impressive, but it’s a fun summer hobby and really good for my mental health. (I also secretly want to be a farmer, so I live the little backyard farm dream for a couple months) During the pandemic last year, gardening really took off. Many people, sitting at home decided that it would be a good time to start growing things.

So they did. And, I couldn’t find my favourite plants. Zucchini is really where it’s at for me. A couple years ago, I had such a great crop that I considered opening a little stand in front of our house. But last year, there were no plants to be found.

Anywhere.

A sweet friend at church found out about my dilemma, and kindly left me a couple packets of seeds in my front door.

Seeds?

I was a little worried at first. I’d never grown anything from a seed. I usually get the plants already started. The ones that have already grown.

But I had no choice, so I planted and hoped for the best.

I watched and waited.

And out of the dirt, beautiful plants grew.

An amazing crop.

Now, it’s a year later. It feels like the world is in the same place it was last time, when I began to play in the soil. But as I prepared my little garden this time, I went looking for seeds.

In a world where everything has stopped, I needed to watch something grow.

Last week I turned the soil, dug deep, dropped in the seeds and now I’m waiting to see things come alive.

In the year we’ve had, seeing life come from cold dark places brings me hope.

It’s a bit of a metaphor for life right now. Recently there have been times where I wasn’t sure if anything good would ever come alive in me again. If I could even grow anymore. If beautiful things could come from loss and pain, and if I could find purpose in the middle of all the questions.

Then, I think about the seeds in my garden.

Tiny little seeds.

Surrounded by cold dirt, alone in the ground, unable to see the light. They sit, they work hard, do all the science things, and if the conditions are right – they come alive. They burst forth above the ground, out of the darkness. Into the glorious sun. And then, they produce beautiful fruit. Or stunning flowers. Or the best darn zucchini and basil this side of the Niagara escarpment.

And I know plants shouldn’t make me cry, but that tender process of growth stirs my heart right now. I need to see it. I look out every morning in anticipation. I want to see the green burst forth. I need to be reminded of how things grow. I know it’s just a tomato, but it’s also hope.

I have to believe that beautiful things come from dark places. I know that growth happens in difficult seasons. And I make the decision that my life will be filled with love, even when I go through pain.

Seeds from the rack at the garden centre.

Bags of topsoil.

Giving me hope in life.

Working on making the conditions in my life, ones that facilitate growth. 

Believing.

Everything that’s buried down deep,

will grow again.