Zen Garden

I am a broken record.  Me and apparently a dear friend who confessed this morning that she, too, is always saying to her friends (I can vouch for this) that she's about to not be busy.  But really, she has been pretty busy for years.  So she's a broken record too.  

I tell people - I tell myself - I will be happy and calm and accept myself as a good person who has not completely failed at life... in just like a day or two.  

When the house is clean, there are no piles of mysteriously clean and/or dirty clothes, when I have played with Lulu with full attention but also had delightful and deep conversation with a friend, maybe all the friends I'm behind with- oh - and all the new ones I've met who I want to connect more with... 

And then, when that happens, of course I'll quickly finish my masters and probably get a PHD in something brilliant and everyone will start thinking differently about women and church and fertility and all that stuff because I submitted my thoughts to them.  Also, obviously, at that point, I will have a really great lush yard that reminds people faintly of Eden.

Yeah. 

Well.

A girl can dream.

I should dream instead of be so miserable about that stupid pile in my bedroom that I've been blogging about FOR YEARS NOW.  Come on. 

I noticed when I was walking Lulu around our delightful neighborhood yesterday that every single beautiful window box, planter, garden, or tree that wasn't dying [our one tree is dying]  

made me feel really angry and jealous and sad that I couldn't create something so peaceful and beautiful.

I did plant some kale and other veggies, and there are technically some flowers growing out there. Here is a picture of my best landscaping yet...

Mhmm.  Very exciting.  I call it my zen garden because it has no weeds in it.  

So, I realized as I was literally grieving how awesome everyone's great gardens were....and that is ridiculous.  It's free to look!  Their gorgeousness is my gain.  How arrogant, how self-centered to only feel joy in a garden that I created in my yard.  And to be unable to take joy in the flowers on other people's fences. 

I realize that the zealousy is a symptom of something much more serious.  A lack of thankfulness.  A lack of deep joy.  A lack of peace.  

I mean, in part, I am a toddler's mom stuck at home a lot and a lush yard would provide some peace and joy, no doubt.  (Does anyone know?  Can someone get back to me on that?) 

But also, this is life.  Today is life.  My yard, my piles, this is life.  So.

Thank you little orange flowers for being perennials.  Thank you for being so friendly.  Sorry I've envied other flowers.  I appreciate you and your simplicity and the color you bring to a pretty bland spot in the yard.  

Also, there is still time to plant.