Digging Deep…all the way to the Roots.

I worked in the flower garden today…in the rain. It was a steady drizzle – enough to annoy me but not enough to stop me. Although it WAS enough to warrant a confused look from my husband as he pulled into the driveway.

I tried to ignore him as he approached. “Emma, what are you doing?”

“I’m working in the garden.”

“Yes. I see that.”

“I’m digging these and splitting them. They are too big and are crowding the other plants. Plus, there are weeds in the middle of them. I think they have invaded the plant by the roots, so I’m digging deep.”

“I see. Ok.” He stalled. I could sense he wanted to say more. “But it’s raining.”

“I know.”

“So why don’t you do this later, like – when it’s not raining,” he asked gently.

I stopped shoveling and looked into his eyes. “Because the rain softens the soil, and I can get to the roots without damaging them.”

“Indeed,” he said, smiling, and walked inside.

And there is God – – digging.

The rain, the soil, the roots. Alan and I were struck by the symbolism of my rainy-day gardening.

It’s raining in our lives right now. Actually, it’s pouring. I feel like we are the ground – saturated to the point we can’t absorb the rain. Yet the rain falls. And falls. And falls some more.

I cry to God to stop the rain because we are drowning. I know He is present. But it seems like He doesn’t see me, or He is busy playing in the mud.

“Seriously?” I think. “We can’t take any more rain, and rather than stopping it, you’re over here digging deep in the dirt… Don’t you care that we are drowning?”

And there is God – digging. But right as I begin another rant about how He’s making mud pies, I notice…

Soil begins to shift. Water runs through, over, and between… Gently, I’m lifted out of the saturated soil and into the palms of God’s hands.

I hear him whisper, “The rain has softened the soil so I can get to your roots without damaging them.”

The roots are taking hold of richer soil.

God- the creator, designer of this magnificent garden of life, is cultivating me – – us. We are His to grow, cut down, divide, dig up, or replant. He cultivates with rain, sunshine, and even drought.

Some days cultivation comes in the form of pruning: cutting away that which is draining life from the rest of the plant. While other days it comes in showers of mercy and compassion that blanket the fragile pruned spots as well as the strong roots and new growth. Then there are days focusing on the roots through the right amount of nutrients and fertilizer – His grace – which reminds us that He is at work in all things.

All are necessary, intentional, and provided so we can bloom for the gardener’s glory.

I look outside and notice my transplanted peonies. Yesterday, I dug them up, removed the weeds, and divided the roots. I replanted them in a better spot. Today, they appear wilted and destined to die before they fully bloom. But despite the shock, beneath the surface, the roots are taking hold of richer soil and have room to grow – free from the weeds that once threatened them. This time next year, my peony plants will be thriving with deep roots, thick green foliage, and beautiful pink blooms. This year’s shock will be but a memory.

God, you are the master gardener, and this is your garden. You created it with an intentional design in mind. Help me remember this: you know the right amount of rain, pruning, dividing, replanting, and the right amount of sun to provide in any given season. I want to trust you to cultivate my life to your will. Even if it means you have to dig deep to get to the roots. Amen