Late in the afternoon, when the sun was losing her intensity, I tugged on my overalls and garden gloves and set out to plant red amaranth. The birds at the feeder kept me company, singing their little songs, talking amongst themselves about the day. Digging the holes, my trowel turned up clods of soil. I broke them open with my hands, crumbling them into little pieces so that the roots of the plants could grow more easily.
“Be my gardener, God. Break open the clods in me that keep my roots from growing,” I prayed. I placed a plant into the hole I’d prepared. “Welcome to the garden, little one,” I whispered.
Off in the distance, out beyond the trees that grow in a line toward the sea, I heard the soft sounds of God’s breath heading my way. I closed my eyes and turned my face so to feel it’s warmth. It moved around me, filling the garden with peace— gently breaking open my heart.