Different seeds need different circumstances to germinate and grow. Some must have plenty of sunshine and good weather to bloom, others need swampy conditions, murk, and cool. Some of the most spectacular, like the Moonflower, only bloom in the dark. Within each of our souls lies a variety of seeds of character, waiting for conditions to be right to germinate. This week, sunshine, rain, and murk have all taken a turn with my soul, sprouting new seeds of growth, in various shades and shapes.
Some seeds of love, gratitude, and testimony have long held a place in my garden, others, that I cannot yet name are curling their leaves tentatively out to find a place in the garden of my soul.
I have never seen my sweetheart in physical need. When he asked me to get a wheelchair to wheel him into the hospital, one seed started to tickle.
I watched him writhe on a hospital bed ceaselessly knowing his white blood cell count was 19,000, then sat helplessly as rigours set in as the bacteria reached his blood stream and his body began an all out fight. His violent shaking practically took him off the bed, while all I could do was tuck another and another warm blanket around his body.
Usually it is me on the bed and I prefer it, rather than the waiting room, pacing as I wait for the surgeon's report. I felt a premonition . . . a quiet request to grow . . . a knowledge that though this was a new experience for me to watch another helplessly, it would not be new the next time. And there would be a next time. Of this I was certain. A next time and a next time with another that is far worse.
I watch him sleep and I run my lips over his head. We are home and all is well. We have been cared for and loved.
I feel a tender young character plant stirring. I wish to run to the warm and sunny part of my garden. My current location is unfamiliar and straggly. I must not rush out though. I must care for this part of my garden design. The master gardener designed it to complement and add beauty to the whole.