Confession: Sometimes my posts have hidden pieces I don’t share. Do you want to see?
Confession: I hate controversial topics, though I tackle them. I do love truth. Multifaceted, complex, everyone’s-perspective-thrown-in-truth. I love debate. Er. Correction—I love watching debate. But I hate moderating it. This time around, we’ll keep things really simple, focus on what we can all agree on.
The earth is round.
The cycle spins.
The grass is greener than you’d expect, this time of year.
Melting snow turns to water.
Zook yard turns to mudhole.
Have you ever dug a hole in January?
I dug a lot of holes this week, some with my shovel, some with my words.
And raw. For me and for you.
All that rich, dark earth, splendidly flecked with earthworms.
The earth is truly, deeply intoxicating. But I hint also at a lush dessert. God giveth us richly all things to enjoy. The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof.
I dug a lot of holes on Saturday, and stood baby trees in most of them… gifts from the Arbor Day Foundation, received too close to snowfall and kept in water since. And the other hole I dug on Saturday (a standard of quality), I dug deeper on Sunday (a case for eating). Why? I guess because I had some seeds to throw down. I hope they will live. They stand straight, rooted in abundance, luxuriating in the unseasonably warm wind.
I am a baby tree too. I live by digging holes to put myself in. Digging holes, putting out roots. It’s the only way I know to grow. I don’t do it all right. But I learn, and I grow.
Shari, who had geared herself up for four to six more weeks of winter, has snuffed spring, and is dogging it.
I am restless and lonesome, ready for fresh topics, fresh hope, fresh air… Spring.