Of sorting soil...one handful at a time.

I'm not sure sorting rocks from soil is my ideal plan of attack for a sunny Saturday. In fact, I'm not sure it's anyone's. So, how did I, after a busy week, end up with handfuls of rocks and fingernails full of dirt on a sunny, Saturday afternoon?

Well, since you asked such a wonderful question.....let's rewind a few hours.

Saturday morning:

7am - wake up
8:30 - drop off Mom at a conference in town
8:45 - jog around Ala Moana beach park
9:00 - take Grandma and Grandpa to buy their weekly supply of papaya from the farmer's market
10:30 - coffee break with Grandma and Grandpa
11:00 - about 20 police officers infest our driveway, guns out, inspecting a vehicle and the empty lot next door
11:15 - Janean and Grandpa enter the garden........
11:35 - Janean wonders, with a handful of rocks and fingernails full of dirt, about all the more efficient methods of separating the rocks from the soil in the garden....

I mean, seriously, there are plethoras of ways to get this job done. On top of many other methods, there are also a ton of other things that need to be taken care of in the garden, which we'll probably NEVER get to because as I sit here, one handful at a time, Grandpa sits on the other side of the garden, one.handful.of.rocks.and.soil.at.a.time.

o......n.........e..............h............a............n...............d.............f............u..............l...................l...................a.......................t...................................a......................................t...............i........................m.........................................e............................

I think you get my point.

In the summer of 2006, I spent a lot of time gardening with Grandpa. I loved doing whatever he needed me to do - rake leaves, pull weeds, transplant orchids, and other tedious, time-consuming tasks. It didn't matter, though, because I loved spending time with him. Watching his then 90 year old hands masterfully tend to the needs of his garden. I enjoyed this time so much, that I decided to spend one semester at home with him and Grandma instead of returning to Seattle.



One thing I have always loved about being in the garden is the quiet. I work. I listen. I think. I think about how much I passionately dislike slugs and snails for all the damage they cause to the plants and wonder if there's any good that comes from their existence. I think about how much I enjoy getting my hands dirty and how much more I enjoy lathering up and watching the dirt go down the drain. I think about the intricacy of plants - their sensitive resiliency. I think about how this garden, the tangerine trees, the orchids, anthuriums, lettuce, onions, green onions, herbs, birds of paradise, and all the other plants whose names I don't know....how they all reflect the time and energy of a man who daily returns to tend to their needs.


Three years later, I still enjoy spending time with Grandpa in the garden. But today. Hot sun. Lots of soil. Lots of rocks. Lots of OTHER things I could be doing in the garden.

And then, it downs on me. I came out here to help Grandpa get things done in the garden. As if there's a list of things that need to be finished before we can call it a day. As if, somehow, my help will make a significant contribution to accomplishing this list. I came out here ready to get it done, cross it off the list, and move on to the next task. And here I'm sitting, looking across that garden at Grandpa, patiently sorting the rocks from the soil, one handful at a time.

How often do I approach my life like this? Wanting to learn more. Wanting to get stuff done. Wanting to accomplish or achieve a significant amount in order to fulfill this need to produce results. Yes, there are many legitimate things that I need to work on, task that must be accomplished, and goals that should be achieved. But today, Grandpa helped me realize a wonderful aspect about God. Today, I will refer him to Him as Grandpa God, The Gardener.

My Grandpa didn't choose gardening as his hobby because he likes to get things done. Don't get me wrong, he's a hard worker. But there will always be more weeds to pull, more soil to sort, more orchids to transplant, fruits to pick, vegetables to plant, branches to cut...There will always be more that needs to be done. But Grandpa simply ENJOYS spending time in the garden. He loves to see the fruits of his daily, faithful labor. He delights in the dreams he has, the potential he sees for each young seed planted. He faithfully returns each day to ENJOY his garden. He ENJOYS watching the produce of his sweet labors of love.

And then there's Grandpa God, The Gardener. And my garden of life. And your garden of life. Each day, he faithfully returns because He ENJOYS me; He enjoys YOU! Yes, we all have weeds that need to be pulled, rocks that need to be removed, snails and slugs that need to be killed, fruit that needs to be picked, leaves that need to be raked. Yes, He sees the potential that we each have to be vibrant, lush gardens of life full of sweet fruit, organic vegetables, and exotic foliage. And yet, regardless of what still needs to be done, He ENJOYS being in your garden of life. He enjoys spending time with you. He's NOT always sitting there going down a list of things that need to be fixed in your life. If He was all about production and results, gardening would NOT be His hobby. You and I would not be His CHOICE creation....His hobby, if you will.

But we are His choice. He chooses to spend time with us. Enjoy us. Love us.

I know I'm not always the choicest soil....and yet, Grandpa God, The Gardener faithfully returns, day after day, and patiently prepares the soil in my garden – my life – for plethoras of plants still unnamed, unplanted. He patiently sorts the rocks from the soil...one handful at a time.

May you make time to sit and ENJOY your garden of life with Grandpa God, The Gardener. Enjoy being enjoyed. Love being loved. Don’t miss out, because He’s not.