I’ve never been good with plants. I’m one of those unfortunate people who dreams of the luscious garden I would create with my own two hands, but I’m left staring at the withered remains of many failed attempts to keep things alive. My biggest accomplishment to date is a houseplant that somehow managed to survive two whole years at my mercy. Though it’s seen better days than its current state, there are six thriving green shoots that are alive and kicking.
Deep down, I know why I’m no green thumb: I’m not good at tending things. Taking time daily to check on the soil or to add monthly fertilizer are things I just don’t think about. And even when I do think about them, they’re not usually top priority. There’s always other demands on my attention, like children to be fed or chores to be done. So it’s no wonder my plants get neglected: they can’t scream at me until I take care of them. Instead, they slowly fade from existence and I wake up one day to realize they’re too far gone to save.
Ironically, the recurring motif in my life right now is wildflowers. Or plants in general, really. Maybe it has something to do with all the research I’ve been doing for my novel, which involves lots of medicinal herbs and floriography–the language of flowers. But more than that, I’m drawn to plants specifically because of the care they require. Flowers, like goals, need more than just the occasional check-in to thrive.
This year, I invested in the 2023 Powersheets Goal Planner to help me narrow my focus and be more intentional with the things I really care about. Imagine my surprise when upon opening it I found an entire guide centered around the idea of cultivating what matters.
This instantly struck a chord with me because lately things have just felt…status quo. Like I’ve been coping instead of thriving. After taking some time for introspection (which I haven’t done a whole lot of since having kids) I realized I’m just doing too much. I touched on this a little bit in my last blog post, and this year has been a time of simply letting some things die so that the soil has enough nutrients to go around.
And it’s not just about gardens–it’s a scriptural concept as well. It would take a long post to talk about all the Biblical connections to planting given to the agricultural ancient world, so I’ll just mention a few.
In Exodus, God commands the people concerning the Sabbath that “For six years you shall sow your land and gather in its yield, but the seventh year you shall let it rest and lie fallow, that the poor of your people may eat; and what they leave the beasts of the field may eat. You shall do likewise with your vineyard, and with your olive orchard” (Ex. 23:10-11). Modern science backs up this practice, though we don’t often see large swaths of bare farmland.
In the last month of letting my fields lie fallow, I’ve discovered some things about myself that hopefully encourage others like me:
I am not Supermom. This is probably the most important reminder I must speak over myself daily, because I’m prone to think I can do it all. The enemy tries to use it against me, telling me that I could be doing more or that what I’m already doing isn’t good enough. He wants me to compare myself to other moms or my own ideals, but it only leaves me feeling empty when I give in. Much of my burnout in the last year came from taking on too many unnecessary projects for the sake of keeping up a certain persona. And at the end of the day, all I’m left with is a handful of thin attempts to be everything to everyone and less of who I really am.
The laundry will always be there. Just like Jesus reminds his disciples in Matthew that they will always have the poor but Jesus would soon be taken from them, I need to remind myself to be present for each moment He gives me. My to-do list may have items unchecked at the end of the day, and that’s okay. Instead of worrying about that, I should focus on the lasting tasks the Lord gives me, whether it’s showing love to my children through intentional discipline or pouring into my marriage with a spontaneous movie night.
Afternoons aren’t all that bad. Whether due to my natural circadian rhythms or my early-bird tendencies, I’ve always sort of hated afternoons. Once noon hits, I start the slow decline of energy until my mind is as foggy as a midwestern day. When I was working or going to school full-time, I avoided scheduling meetings and classes from about 1-5 if I could. But suddenly, 1 pm is a time I crave for one reason: naptime. (For the kids, that is!) It’s funny how I now find myself unwilling to budge on that one part of my schedule because doing so means a cranky toddler, fussy baby, and one tired mama. What a valuable lesson to apply to the rest of my life! Observing a daily time of rest preserves everybody’s energy, making us more effective servants to the Kingdom.
I don’t need stuff. I’ve never considered myself a materialistic person, but when my priorities get off-track the attitude of indulgence worms its way in. Go on, you deserve it every once in a while. A small purchase here and there isn’t a big deal. It’s not like you’re buying a new car or anything. It’s not that there’s anything inherently wrong with spending money. It’s just the mindset of excess that I want to weed out. I’ve found myself asking, “Do I already have something that serves the same purpose?” and “If I didn’t buy it now, would I even think about it again next week?” These two questions have helped me distill each purchase down to its essence, and most of the time I can walk away from the consumer impulse.
I enjoy being home. Closely related to the above truth, when I stay home, I spend less money. (We’ll leave online shopping out of the equation, since that’s been a beast of its own to tame.) Not only that, but I have more time and more energy to pour into my household when I’m not out all hours of the day. (Go figure!) I’ve discovered that the things I actually care about–writing, meal planning, cleaning, raising my children–get more love and attention when I say no to unnecessary commitments.
I recognize that life brings with it many seasons. King Solomon wisely tells us that “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven” (Ecc. 3:1). Right now, I’m in a season of slowing down and cultivating the garden God has given me. Maybe a time will come when I can throw myself into other areas of ministry more heartily, but for now, I’m happy to dwell in the familiar ones.
Because it’s not the amount of things I do that gives my life meaning. It’s how I pursue Christ in all things and seek to do them to His glory that lets me live a life of purpose.