Seasons

I think it was March of last year that I took on my first garden project. There's a beautiful Japanese maple at the end of our driveway that was surrounded by a hodge-podge of plants (mostly dark green liriope, which I loathe) I resolved to make something useful of the space. After digging up all of the liriope with a shovel, Andy worked with me to turn half the bed into a seating space for our fire pit and red plastic Adirondack chairs. The rest I planted throughout the spring and summer, dabbling with a little of this and that. Learning what plants I liked, and what plants didn't work in the shady space.

I don't think of myself as a gardener. I come from a family with more than a few green thumbs. And when I took a European backpacking adventure with three friends five summers ago, I found myself more enchanted by English roses and Spanish gardens than with architecture or artwork. Still, I've been reluctant to assume the identity of "gardener." Maybe because I have always had so many other things going on, and working in the garden seems like just another thing to try and then fail at.

I can't say that the March 2018 project dramatically changed things for me, but it was a start. And in the months that have followed, the love and desire to be outside in the garden has taken root (pun intended) in a deeper way because God has been using the garden to teach me and heal me.

It's December, and the life-crippling anxiety that settled into my bones in August has left at last, and while I wouldn't say I've been gardening all that time, I think that's exactly what God has been doing in me.

I've been watching this English gardening show a lot lately, and one of the things that I've learned is that the best gardens don't just happen. They're the result of intentional plans, hard work, acceptance and time. As I sit at my kitchen table, looking out my window at the azalea hedge I'm clearing as my newest garden project, I can't help but recognize that the work God has done in my life over the past year involves these same four things.

Religious people see God as useful. Gospel people see God as beautiful. 
-Tim Keller

I came across this quote at some point in my months of suffering, and it's been like a North Star. It helped me identify where I have been. I haven't been the Gospel person I thought I was, and maybe have genuinely been at other times in my life. It helped me see that I have spent the most recent years as the religious person looking for God's usefulness. When God failed to be useful in the way I thought He should be, heart-sickness, bitterness and unbelief began to overgrow my heart.

I couldn't see God as beautiful, and I certainly couldn't see that He had a beautiful plan for my heart. This is where the gardening analogy really starts to fit. I'm learning that when I look out on a landscape and see it overgrown and unkempt, it doesn't frustrate or disappoint me the way that it used to. I used to feel really intimidated by all that unruliness. But now, it excites me. Because I've learned that as I plan and diligently work, little by little, with time and acceptance and grace, something good will come. Could this be how God has felt as He has looked into my heart? The bitterness and disappointment, heart break and sin that He has seen haven't intimidated Him. He has a beautiful plan and infinite power, abundant grace and all of the time in the world. All I need to do is cooperate with His plan.

God gave me the fertile soil of anxiety in which to create that cooperation. When physical suffering made it too difficult for me to ignore my great need for God's great work any longer, I settled into months of seeking and receiving His grace- not the "useful" grace that I have yearned for, but the beautiful grace that He so expertly, abundantly and creatively gives.

As I've opened up about this suffering, I've been amazed at how many people have identified with the struggle. There are many of us struggling with anxiety and I'm grateful to get to share what I've learned and the grace I've received. Truth  and transparency seem like the right direction, but shame calls out from the darkness and would love to keep us hidden and trapped. I'm not for shame. It's my enemy, so I write this to defy it.

Every day from August until now, God has taken me a step (sometimes even a leap) forward in the process of cultivating a beautiful heart. It started with identifying my need for the Beautiful God, and then developed into a glimmer of belief that He could work in my brokenness (thank you, Ann Voskamp and The Broken Way)

I've learned to risk asking God what He thinks of me (thank you, Kinsey) and then learned to wait an uncomfortable amount of time for an answer.

I've learned to take medicine when my physical suffering from anxiety was so great that it made me want to die (thank you, Jim Rapalje, the PA who pointed me to Isaiah 54: 16 and scripted me the relief that I needed) And then learned to put that very medicine away when God showed me it was time to step forward in a new kind of faith (thank you "Burn the Ships" by For King and Country- seriously, watch this...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOVrOuKVBuY)

I rumbled, and rumbled and rumbled some more with shame (SO MUCH shame) and expectations and loss and forgiveness and boundaries. (Thank you, Brené Brown for teaching me about Rising Strong) 

I've learned to be intentional about my yeses and no's because they haven't come as easily as they used to. So those yeses have been whole-hearted. Every Monday morning at BSF leader's training, and every Tuesday morning with my BSF small group has been a most whole-hearted yes because I had no idea if my body would agree with the yes that my mind and heart had already agreed to.

In late October, I broke down in the doctor's office. I had waited three months to sit there and get my blood pressure taken in a triage room covered in Bible verses. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I read printed versions of prayers that had filled my sleepless nights. My doctor gave me his undivided attention, a new prescription, a book recommendation and hope. I learned a LOT about all of the physical things that I had been experiencing from listening to that book. It was a HUGE turning point for me. (Thank you, Dr. Viswanith and Barry McDonough for helping me understand the power of adrenaline and how to accept by practicing the DARE response)

It's mid-December, and I know it might sound cliché, but I'm not sure if I've ever felt better. I'm learning to sleep again. I can eat. I'm still off caffeine and drink very little alcohol. On sunny days, I can't wait to get out into my garden. I'm learning to accept that things take time. I'm learning to have compassion on myself and others. I'm learning to enjoy process, instead of rushing toward some imaginary "product." My heart has never been more at peace. God has truly done a work in me in this season.

I came across this song a few days ago. It's a Christmas song, and it is perfection.


Nothing makes more sense to me than this song. It's the story of this heart and its Beautiful Gardener. All of the weight- the heartache, the disappointment, the physical suffering- it hasn't been lifted, it's been invested, churned deeply into deepest, darkest soil. Sin has been pulled up by its roots, but it's an ongoing process to keep the space clear- a lesson every gardener learns eventually, I guess. And good seeds have been planted. I end this year with this commitment to the God I've once again found to be beautiful, and whose beauty I've found to be sufficient- my "useful" expectations of Him be damned.

You're the God of seasons
I'm just in the winter
If all I know of harvest
Is that it's worth my patience 
Then if you're not done working, 
God, I'm not done waiting. 

p.s. As I've walked through this season of life, I've learned a lot about anxiety. Thank you so much to be MANY friends who have carried this burden for me. I must especially thank my mom for shouldering the tremendous burden of helping me care for my children.  And Andy for becoming even more tender-hearted and open to growth. Many friends have reached out with private messages, texts, prayers requests, emails and listening ears. Every single bit of it has been insurmountable grace. Every person's experience with anxiety if different, in both cause and effect. I am grateful for and respectful to those sojourners who have walked these difficult paths alongside me. May your winter bring forth a beautiful harvest.