My Garden Is My Sign

“Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin’ out the scenery, breakin’ my mind
Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign?” – Five Men Electrical Band


Just recently, I have resumed my normally enthusiastic work in my garden.  After a seasonably grim winter, during which I myself became ill [which does come first, the chicken or the egg?], I decided to just toss in the towel; sell my house; and move–somewhere–anywhere else.


 Fortunately, God has a way of thwarting some of my impulses.  The housing market is terrible where I live; my house needs work; and ultimately, I just had to get a grip and deal.  I returned to a garden that was essentially unplanted, unplugged, and just basically not up to par.  After a month’s work, things have begun to take shape again.  I cleaned and restarted the ponds and waterfall; and I essentially began tending my garden again.  


Often, during the past month, I have thought how my garden is a clear sign of how I myself am functioning.  Because even during the winter, I normally enjoy my garden, one can clearly read my untended garden as a sign that I myself am Closed.  If I have abandoned my garden completely, I have abandoned myself, as well.  A tended garden is the embodiment of life.  It is a reflection of the life that has been poured into it; and in its growing and flourishing afterward, it becomes the essence of life itself.  While I hate housework,  I love slaving in the garden; and I believe that the reason lies  in the fact that regardless of how hard I work in my house, it never actually gets its footing and begins to breathe for itself.  A garden is different.   


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