Letting Love In and Eating the Weeds

The wild wonder of spring is upon us; the untamed grass is crowned with dandelion constellations and the tulips boast their colourful goblets almost as fast as the children devour their edible petals. (Over the last couple of years we’ve eagerly learned about every plant, weed and flower that is edible on our property. Turns out that almost everything is!)

The tables and counters have filled up with child-picked bouquets, and beauty is just generally everywhere. Mud pies and sand-sandwiches are now on the backyard menu as the sun revives us from our winter slumber. It is good.

Right about now is typically where my mind races in to start making the checklist for the sun-drenched weeks ahead: Oh, the things we will do! The gardens will be better and more fruitful this year, the house will be purged and fixed, new projects will launch, parties will be organized, trips will be planned, and we will quickly be up to our gills in activity.

And yet, this season, I’m feeling differently. It could be because we are expecting our baby any day, or perhaps it is because we are in a new season of family life as my husband’s work has transitioned, or it could be that I am just growing up.

This year, I feel a different kind of settled and a different kind of restless all at the same time.

I feel ready to dump expectations, external pretences, ambitions for perfection, and just embrace relational-life in a full-on love sort of way.  I am tired of fixing up material stuff and pouring our energy into our own little kingdom.

I want people, just the regular kind. The kind whose kids aren’t perfect, and the kind who like to ask big questions and play around with possibilities. I want to hang out in the old fashioned make-do-with-what-you-got way, not the Martha Stewart perfection way: pickles, crackers, and lemonade it is!  I want to talk about faith and miracles, and pray with the expectation that we will not be the same one month from now as we are today.

I hunger for animated fellowship, and food together, and lingering with those who are braving similar journeys. I want to just hang around the campfire and share the war stories, and laugh at the miracles, and sing songs to Heaven together.

I don’t want programs or strategies or religion or meetings.  

I simply desire the contact of real spirit-connection-encounters with those who are taking risks, and trying, and experimenting outside of the boxes that threaten to toss us all into the never-ending matrix of disconnected discontent.

I’m just looking forward to something different this summer: being present with my arm-load of wonder-kids, dwelling joyfully in the tender romance of a shared life with my husband, and extending the term “family” to those who walk alongside us in the regular, clumsy rhythms of growing and risking and dreaming out loud.

This spring, I don’t see the weeds anymore; where I used to see work and labour and striving, I now see food and life and potential. The time for living alone and weeding our own little plots day after day, is nearing it’s end. It’s time to be aplantin’ together, letting the love in.

Anyone want to join us?

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1 Comment

  • Reply anne May 10, 2016 at 2:52 pm

    you so wonderfuly speak my heart 🙂

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