Waiting to Bloom

20170206_123808I promised myself I wasn’t going to do it this year. I usually get burned out. But there I sat on Monday afternoon with dirt sprinkled across my kitchen floor and countertop as my two youngest helped me bury tiny seeds into gardening trays.

More dirt was flying from our bins and egg cartons than it was filling the rows. It never fails, I tell my kids to put one or two seeds into a cup and we end up with dozens in one spot. Who knows if our flowers will bloom.

But it’s nearly spring. And I’m starting some seeds again.

My flower trays sit on a long table in my room facing some large windows. I anxiously check them every day.

I love to see the first initial sprout. Will they actually germinate? Will they make it through the transition period when I start taking them slowly outside? What color will they be? Will they return next year?

It takes a lot to start seeds indoors. They have to be carefully monitored – carefully tended. But that’s just the beginning. They have to adjust to outside conditions, they have to take root in my flower beds, they have to fight through the weeds, they have to withstand the weather.

As I planted seeds this week I couldn’t help feeling like a tiny seed myself. This winter has been particularly dark and cold for me. I’ve found myself sad and lonely. I’ve been bored with things that normally make me happy. I’ve been overly insecure and self conscious.

The weeds have crowded in and the weather has beaten me down. I’ve been biding my time, waiting for light and warmth to come my way again. I’ve been working on finding myself and what truly makes me happy.

I’ve been like a seed, lost in the soil, waiting to break through. Waiting for the cold winter to fade and the spring to bring me warmth again.

It’s coming. I can feel it. For me and my plants.

I’ve just got to be patient, and keep working at it – it won’t happen over night. I’ve got to keep feeding and watering my plants, and my soul.

Sooner or later we’re both bound to bloom again.

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