May 30, 2012
I’m guest posting for Micha Boyett’s blog Mama Monk today for her new series: This Sacred Everyday. I met Micha at the Festival of Faith and Writing. I’ll admit that when she introduced herself, I almost said, “Yeah right… I know what you look like from your blog.” However, I’d been looking at an old picture of her.
After clearing that up, I moved on to just feeling insecure around a bunch of people I didn’t know. Micha was amazingly kind and welcoming. When she learned that I hail from Philadelphia, she even talked smack about the Dallas Cowboys. Now that is Christian love in action.
I’m writing all of this to arrive at the point where I asked about her blog, and she mentioned the concept behind Mama Monk: After she had kids, she struggled to find the peace and quiet she used to have for prayer. Mama Monk is about rediscovering spiritual practices in the midst of having kids. It’s a great idea, and the blog itself is even better. I’m honored to be sharing a guest post there today.
Here’s a little sample of my guest post:
Manure tea is heavy and awkward to pour. The smell is revolting. How can week old rabbit manure that’s been “brewing” in a bucket of warm water not assault your senses? I pour the manure tea on our tomatoes. Tragically, it splashes.
I look at the fertilizer powders in the gardening center with longing eyes. What joy it must be to use a scoop to spread a pleasant, clean white powder on one’s plants and call it a day.
Instead, I’m scraping up another load of rabbit manure from their cage and filling up the bucket for next week’s batch of natural fertilizer.
On other days I’ve hauled in bags of dirt and compost, turned over the soil, dug holes, yanked weeds, and fought off pests and disease. I deal with sweat, sore shoulders, torn jeans, and cracked fingers.
Gardening can be physically demanding, expensive, frustrating, and wonderful. I’m not just attached to the thought of the sweet carrots I yank up or the delicious greens that pop up in orderly rows. I’m into the rhythm and sanctuary of my garden as a sacred space.