Hands in the Dirt
This summer, Erik and I finished our marathon of moving that we’ve been running since before we got married. But in early July, I found myself, not happily settling in, but feeling upset and anxious yet again. In addition to the stress of finding a large houseful of quality furniture at affordable prices and managing the tangled emotions and disrupted routines of two small children, I also was reacting poorly to the worrisome political climate in our country with the next election drawing near. When my anxiety reached a fever pitch, I finally listened to my loved ones who encouraged me to find a new focus.
One of the primary joys of finally moving into a house that will become a home for us is the large garden that the previous pastor handed over to us upon arrival. We had time to hastily plant as much as we could a week into June, days after moving in. And in the August, I went crazy pruning tomatoes, clearing weeds, planting fall seeds, and researching and reading as much as I could about kitchen gardens. Getting my hands into the dirt as many times a day as I could quite literally grounded me. It has reminded me that we, the human creatures in God’s glorious world, were made to be among plants.
We were made to push our fingers into the dirt, to sweat hard with the sun beating upon our backs, and observe the tiny insects and other animals that live among the flurry of green leaves and small flowers. I realize that I am responding to the success of beginners luck, really well tended soil prepared for us, and advice from new friends. But if that isn’t a true life lesson, I don’t know what is. Working hard for what we have is an American virtue, but recognizing the undeserved blessings generously and wildly bestowed upon us by our Maker as well as the gifts others give to us freely has to be one of the most Christian mindsets we can practice.
All of life is a gift, from the tiny flower seeds sprouting so much more vigorously than you thought possible late in the summer to the beautiful smiles of healthy children who ask of their own accord, “Is there anything to help with, Mama?” It is easy to forget this truth and take for granted the daily joys of earthly - dirty - life. It is easy to expect gifts from neighbors and loved ones as if they are our due. And taking these gifts for granted makes us forget that community must grow naturally from tiny seeds first before it can bear fruit, and just like the time and immense nutrition that tomatoes require to not just grow but turn deep red, community requires a great deal of tending, too, before it bears that fruit.
It seems that true community begins in the soil, in the dirt. It requires good seeds, consistent watering, steady but not too powerful sun, and a little protection from wind and weeds. It requires work, but that’s a good thing. Concrete reality provided by our local community outside of all the anxiety that feeds into our minds via screens and earbuds is a precious commodity, just like good soil. The Scriptures are full of metaphors about gardens and dirt and wildlife. The nature that God created and gave to us to keep and tend, far from being a burden, can bring us together. We need one another to succeed in taking care of even our little gardens, and more so our little lives! The phrase “common ground” seems to buzz about constantly these days. But actual common ground isn’t something we create. It’s already there, just waiting for us to put our hands in the dirt, sharing the load of backbreaking but satisfying hard work. I realize I’m hinting at that old way of living: farmers helping one another in the face of bad weather or a poor crop, and I’m probably romanticizing it. But there’s a reason Wendell Berry compares all of life both to a dance and to a harmonious community of small land owners. We were meant to work with our hands in the dirt and also hand in hand with our neighbors. The isolation we have found in our modern lives is a direct result of removing ourselves from the garden. Planting a few seeds seems an easy way to open our doors just a little to our neighbors once again.
