Christianne Dettmann
I’ve never had a terribly green thumb. In fact, it’s much more correct to say my green thumb is terrible! It’s not that I’ve never grown anything worthwhile, but the occasional success stories in my garden have taken a level of attention and persistence I don’t possess naturally. Seed depth, row spacing, watering frequency, sunlight intensity, topsoil quality, pot size, temperature fluctuations…so many factors are at play! Not to mention the bugs, weeds, grubs, birds, and other predators that try to deter my tender crops from thriving…the work to fend these off seems endless!
But oh, the harvest! Basil, arugula, mint, tomatoes, dill, parsley, sage, and even squash blossoms! Sure, maybe I pay in water bills more than these would cost in the store, but the quality and flavor just can’t be beat! Knowing firsthand the effort it takes to produce such a bountiful crop convinces me talented gardeners are worth their weight in gold.
Paradoxically, some of my best crops (though I’m no expert) have grown out of difficult times, such as the pandemic of a few years back. The lockdown forced slowdowns—or at least shifts in how and where we spent our time—that turned the plethora of dirt-filled pots on our back porch into a party of plant projects. As I labored to coax new life out of every seed or stem, I couldn’t help but see the parallel to a proverb I learned many years prior: “Guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.” I always thought that meant “be careful who you let in so you don’t get hurt.” As a natural introvert, this idea seemed sensible. Banks have safes. Doors have locks. Why wouldn’t we also have sentinels for our souls? To some extent, this wisdom has merit, but my pandemic planting endeavors made me ponder another perspective. What if it also meant “be careful what you let take root so it doesn’t choke out what you’re trying to grow?”
Some obstacles to healthy growth we can evade by prevention, but some emerge anyway and we manage them as they become evident. Weeds in particular come to mind. Anyone who’s ever kept a garden knows it’s important to pull them in the same way some people joke about voting: early and often! Tiny weeds usually release more easily, but those we’ve let get established are more stubborn and must be pulled with utmost care so as not to damage the intended crop.
As I nurtured my garden, it struck me: What if “guarding our hearts” is less about limiting who or what we let in and more about eliminating the unwanted emotional “weeds” that sometimes crop up in our interactions—bitterness, jealousy, hurt, hatred, and the like? Letting such invasive species stay in our pots will eventually decimate the crops we wish to produce—like peace, joy, and love—leaving nothing for the feast. So pull the weeds I must! Yes, it’s hard work, but the harvest is worth the effort.