waiting on my roots

I’ve been wandering around my yard looking at the remnants of last year’s garden. In most of the beds, I see only brown, dried, ugly shapes... hydrangeas shriveled up at the end of the branch... chrysanthemum plants with tall dead stalks... shrubbery with no green leaves, just empty branches. And yet... if I look closely... under the leaf mulch... at the base of the old dead plants, there is a touch of green showing... new baby yarrow that has multiplied since last summer. It will have to be divided and transplanted. There are tender buds at the end of the forsythia bushes... almost a bloom. All around the edges and underneath the surface, new life is nibbling its way through the earth towards a warmth that is not yet here.
Uncaring about the possibility, the certainty of a hard freeze or snow or ice yet to come, this new life pushes its way to the surface. I know the tender new growth is at risk. It is too soon in the season for buds and blooms. But there is no denying the strength of the life force in these barely here plants. In the darkness of the underground home for these plants, there is movement... momentum... a mandate for growth that cannot be stifled. "To everything there is a season..."
This grey time... this fuzzy around the edges time... this in-between time for my soul has tried my patience. In the mornings I give myself pep talks... snap out of it... count your blessings... get a move on... it’s all in your head. But the truth is, it is not in my head. It is in my soul and spirit. Where are the spiritual gifts in this season? How can I find ways not just to passively wait for this time to pass but use it to help my root system grow? Where are my little green shoots popping up? And what are they?
Writing has been nourishing my root system. It is not easy to find the underground river of tears that waters the words I write. That trip to the place where I am my truest self is not always a pleasant experience. I remember as I write... I weep as I write... I struggle with being honest without being too too... too cute... too preachy... too wise sounding... too much about me... But something about this process has forced me out into the open. Much like the tiny green growth peeping out from under the top layers of brown, sharing what I write with all of you keeps me moving... growing towards the Light. This is a painful act for an introvert who treasures her creations and fears others responses to the words that bubble up. Like the yarrow, I can’t help myself... I multiply and grow in the act of creation.
Teaching nourishes my root system. I teach continuing education courses to adults at our community college... fun classes... picture matting and framing... paper art... the art of creation. The power and fun to be had in these classes always amazes me. What a pleasure to have someone who does not consider themselves "artistic"...watch them take a flying leap into the creation pond and see them come up laughing, surprised by the pure joy that comes with trying something close to God’s heart... making all things new by trying something new.
Friendship warms my roots. I am old enough now to have friends who have been a part of my life for 40 years. I also have friends who have just come into my life. What a gift friendship is. With each friend , I do a dance... a dance that holds us close to one another in times of joy and sorrow... a dance that allows room for togetherness and separateness... a dance that feeds and sustains my spirit... a dance that reminds me of my relationship to God. How could I not grow with all the warmth and light that has been given to me from my friends?
So... maybe I just need to wait after all... wait and trust the seasons... wait and trust God to be here in the greyness and in the spring green and in the fall color. My friend Tony Weisenberger says, "I don’t lead my life. I just follow it". I’ll try to follow my life... watch and wait and see what pops up... where is the green underneath...The green pastures are still here for my soul to lie down and rest. I’ll wait awhile longer. God will come by and there will be joy in the morning again someday.