"Inspiration usually comes during the work rather than before it."
--Madeleine L'Engle
This hopeful thought is the only thing that keeps me writing on uninspiring days.
A related concept I've encountered is that wisdom comes during creative work, rather than before it.
And lately I've been learning a lot about people while gardening.
I've been reading books on art and faith for a couple years now, and most of them usually feel compelled to list somewhere in the first chapter an example list of artistic categories. Writing, music, sewing, sculpting, painting, drawing, and...gardening.
I remember being surprised the first time I read "gardening" in that list. Upon further thought, it made sense, but I had never stopped to consider it an art.
But, as He does through all good art, God speaks through gardening.
Four Saturdays ago, my husband and I went on an impromptu trip to a new Menard's store not far from where we live. We left the store with seeds, soil, tomato planters, 3 strawberry sprouts, a seedling tray, and a bright red watering can. We stayed up late together, hunched over a tray of dirt on the kitchen floor and debating back and forth about how much spinach versus romaine we wanted. Our fingertips were blackened by spading holes in the rich dark soil.
That night, I was a whirl of impatience and anticipation. I felt such joy, looking forward to the morning when those dead-looking kernels would shake off the dirt and raise up as firm green flesh.
As seen above, the romaine seeds were the first to raise their heads - after just three days - with the spinach buds nipping at their heels. Teeny tiny basil bushes started to push through in the back corner. Then the thick sugar snap vines pushed aside the dirt and unfurled toward the sun. The tomatoes, bell peppers, and jalapenos came up last, all three species identical in their infant stage, two symmetrical leaves atop a short straight stalk.
In those days of sprouting, I was learning about how miraculous all life is, and I was learning about resurrection. And, between the romaine and the 14 days it took for the bell peppers to start showing, I was learning that not all living things - people included - mature at the same rate.
The same day we bought the seeds, I asked our landlady for a plot of dirt in the yard. She loaned us a patch of dirt between our building and our eastern neighbor. Using the gardening tools she also loaned, I tilled our little plot of land. I spent two hours outside with a hoe and spade and hacked up our small 13'x3' plot of garden. By the time I had finished turning the soil, my jeans were stained, my palms were blackened, and I was happy.
I was learning the satisfaction of good physical work. I was learning how much effort it takes to live well, even as a vegetable sprout.
We started with 70 seeds and 3 strawberry sprouts. And, well, they haven't all made it.
Our cats trampled and chewed up at least 15 of the first seedlings. Several seeds were duds. Half of our 16 healthy sugar snap sprouts were eaten 3 days after they were transplanted to the garden. The other half barely survived an unseasonable May frost. We moved our vibrant strawberry sprouts into a big planter bowl by the living room window, and woke up the next day to find the leaves nibbled on and the dirt compacted by curious cat paws.
I planted another 6 six spinach seeds in a plastic cupcake tray. I moved the unscathed basil into three white pots on the sill above the sink. I planted 6 more sugar snap peas to replace those eaten.
I learned about rebirth, and second chances.
I learned a lot.
And I'm sure as the garden matures further, I'll learn more. Because God likes to talk through art and creativity.
What about you? What have you learned about God through being creative?
