roots … a challenge

I am a irregular gardener. I love planting things, but forget to water them. I love to prune my roses, but only occasionally remember to spray them for bugs. I love the produce that a garden brings, be it fresh flowers, or herbs, but I don’t love weeding.

But of late I have been surrounded by garden metaphors. The women’s event we ran last night was on identity and the main image we had was of a tree, with an understanding that you need roots before branches.

This morning the guest speaker at church was talking about being planted, and examining the idea that being planted is a pre-requiste to bearing fruit. To me being planted means literally “putting down roots”.

A while ago I wrote a poem:

in the beginning
I was strong
my roots were tapping
deep
into the ground
soaking up truth
and love

my leaves were healthy
I was shielded by them
protected
from the wind and rain

now
I find myself
bending in the wind
lashed by the storms
that shake
the fragile leaves from my boughs

and I worry
that I might be uprooted

PS: No one can see your roots, but they are the most important thing.