Today I began the job of pulling last summer’s bean vines from the
garden fence. Outdoor conditions were
perfect: winter-crisp air with no wind, and the skies were magnetically sunny and soul-brightening.
The tightly woven blanket of lush green that had draped over
the fence for months had become a skeleton of climbing stems: stiff, dry,
lifeless. Leftover tendrils - some gnarly like marine rope,
others fragile and delicate like curly baby hair - continued to diligently grip
the wire as they’d done during warm months of opportunity and growth to full
potential. A few overlooked pods still held matured dry seeds, icons of purpose in the rhythm of life.
Honestly, I felt something close to kinship as I unwrapped the vines and broke them into small pieces for removal. For months I’d tended these tenacious climbers that had supplied a generous supply green beans even into early November. However, today they called me beyond that relationship to the profound unity of living things that make up the fabric of life on earth.
The lesson du jour wasn’t just about seasonal cycles of beans. Rather, it focused me on everything in the grand, divine mystery of earthly life. This was a simple but profound experience...right there in the nippy, sun-stroked winter garden, beside barren forest trees standing tall and bold while the low-hanging sun faithfully pressed its energy earthward as a promise of another season of growth.
“Love all that has
been created by God, both the whole and every grain of sand. Love every leaf
and every ray of light. Love the beasts
and the birds, love the plants, love every separate fragment. If you love each fragment, you will understand the mystery of the
whole resting in God.”
–Fydor Dostoyevsky
1 comment:
This was lovely. A great reminder that God's beauty can be found in the simplest settings.
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