So back to the lawn mowing... A few months ago we had to take down several large old black locust trees on the edge of our yard. They were nearly rotted through, and were starting to lose big, heavy branches whenever thunderstorms rolled through. I was sad to lose them, but it was their time to go. They left this big gaping space along the fence line, taking away a lot of beauty and privacy in their absence. They used to bloom every spring with lobbing, heavy cascades of white fragrant flowers, and I’ve missed them this year. We have a few acres of land, and they don’t all get mowed at the same time. I do most of the mowing, and so I have a circuit that I rotate through every couple of weeks. Today I was making it back to a patch that hadn’t been touched in a while. Everything green grows fast in the Kentucky summer, so it was definitely overdue for a trim, but what I found today was a beautiful surprise. In the area where we had lost those trees, every time I’ve mowed this summer, I find a few tiny seedlings popping up to replace their parents, and each time, there’ve been a few more sprouts than there were before, even though I keep mowing them down. But today, today there were hundreds. I stopped the mower just to look at them, and saw the most beautiful analogy for exactly what I’m wrestling with right now.

There’s no way that one seedling can compete with a mower, no way one seedling can necessarily withstand all the summer sun and dry days between rainstorms. But every single time they have been torn down, more have returned in their place. Organizing and expanding until they’ve become a tiny new forest of potential.  Not one single seed or root of those original trees have gone to waste. 

Those seeds and those seedlings are just like the little acts of kindness we can share with each other. The tiny pauses where we choose patience instead of rudeness. The moments we stop to watch the clouds roll by, or sing with the crickets in the evening. The prayers we pray, the tears we cry, the words we find to soften and soothe.  Sitting in silence, speaking the truth in love. Resting when we need to. Coming to the support and defense of those who need it.  Doing whatever we've each been given to do that can bring life to dead places.  Welcoming the stranger.  Giving what we have. Listening.  Listening.

But I can’t just automatically turn myself into some saintly angelic gardener of extroverted activism. I’m angry, I get knotted up inside. I get short and curt and selfish and sarcastic, sometimes even with people I love the most. I get tired.  I feel afraid.  I lose my nerve.  Sometimes I tear down far more than I build up. Sometimes I just pull the covers over my head and wait for things to go away.  I am so small.

But the seedlings remind me that life always, always finds a way. Even when that mower rolls through tearing down their work, they’ll just send up more shoots tomorrow. Because that’s what life does. It lives. 

So this is my message to you, dear friend. You have sown many seeds, probably so many more than you know. And even if you haven’t, even when you can’t, life is working its magic all around you anyway. 

Today, just let it. Just rest.