I have a few passions in life, and one of them is flower gardening--very precisely flower gardening.  I have no interest in growing things to eat unless they happen to be flowering herbs that I can cook with (another passion,) and to give me a house plant is a death sentence to the poor plant.  But, flowers are a whole different thing for me. 

Why, you may ask, am I talking about growing flowers when the wind-chill temperature tonight is predicted to be zero?  Well, I ordered some hard-to-find shade plants on the internet.  That apparent set loose a frenzy of address-sharing, which has resulted in a treasure trove of gardening catalogs...every day.  Today's bounty was particularly generous.  I am not sure if it is a blessing or curse, but it always seems that the catalogs are most plentiful in the worst of winter to tease or entice me into thinking about spring.  I am going to take it as a blessing.

Since I live in an apartment, I have a limited amount of space, and I am probably already over-planted.  But just looking at the catalogs made me start thinking about the promise of spring. There are spring flowers lurking below the soil, waiting for the first warm breezes and longer days to pop their heads through the soil...right on my balcony...now.

Long before I began a conscious spiritual journey, and even longer before I began meditating, getting my fingers in the soil was my meditation.  When I was married, my husband used to say he could watch me go into a zone that was like watching tai-chi as soon as I got near my plants.  I am not sure what there is about flowers, but I know I am not alone in this zen-like experience of gardening.  It has been too long since I've had my fingers in the soil...and judging from the temperatures right now, it will be longer still.

There is a magic that happens as the first tender green pops through the soil in late February or early March.  The flowers wait patiently to break through the earth.  I wonder if I am not like those plants, I've been patiently waiting to grow to the next stage.  I've been saying this season's affirmations since mid-September, and waiting...waiting for the thoughts to become reality.  In the past, there was suddenly a day when I realized I wasn't just saying, "I am love," but I actually felt it in my bones.  Just like the plants waiting to break through the soil, I think my evolution is kindled in my heart ready to emerge anew.  I am ready.  I am ready to see the new me emerge, along with the first flowers of spring.

Seeds of Faith

This is my first full year in my apartment, and I am still planting my balcony garden. Thursday a box full of plants and bulbs was waiting for me when I got home.  For me there is something therapeutic about getting my fingers in the soil, so when I embarked on the chore of planting, I did so with much joy.

Fall is a time when I become most consciously aware of faith.  As I put out the plants that will grace my home next spring, I do so with a great deal of faith.  I trust that if I do my part--plant them right, fertilize, and then water them regularly--they will do their part. 

The magic isn't limited to my balcony.  In the park behind my home, seeds are or have been dropped and are working their way into the ground to grow roots.  Fruits and vegetables left too long in the field have broken open and dispersed their seeds.  Wild flowers have gone to seed. The wind has scattered their seeds as well. In something of a mystery, during the winter when the elements seem most inhospitable to fostering life, a magical process of starting life is going on.

This mysterious cycle of life occurs so regularly that it is easy to lose touch with the wonder of what is occurring.  In many ways, what occurs in our own spiritual development parallels what happens in nature.  Each day as I attempt to grow more whole, whether it be in how I eat or exercise or in my focus on creating heart connections with the clerks in the grocery store. 

I take actions each day, not because I expect something will miraculously change in an instant.  I take actions in alignment with my intentions for who I am becoming because I have faith that if I do those actions to which I've committed every day, then a few months down the road in what seems like an overnight success, the seeds I've been planting will spring forth in a new me.

Spiritual growth, like planting my garden, is an act of faith. If I act consistently over time, I will grow into a new person, as surely as the tulip bulbs I planted yesterday will blossom in shades of purple and pink. I have faith that I will grow into more wholeness, and by so doing, I will plant seeds for a better world.