Hope In the Garden
In the garden, one cabbage, some kale, and some turnips are left to be harvested. The raspberries are gone, and soon I will pick the kiwis and the green tomatoes. Other crops are growing: garlic, winter lettuce, spinach, broccoli, but they won’t be ready to pick for a while.
So most of the harvest is in. We’ve eaten all but a few of the delicata squash, and spring garlic is in a basket in the dining room. Living in the city as we do, we don’t really have much of a fall harvest. At least not of food. But day by day, we harvest love, hope, and freedom.
Finding Hope
In my work as a chaplain, I sometimes talk with people who have little hope. Their past has been filled with pain, and they can’t imagine anything else for their lives. They long for sobriety, and yet they can’t see how being clean and sober will ease their pain. They can’t imagine freedom or joy. There was a moment when the pain of using seemed worse than the pain of being clean, so they came into treatment. Then after a few days, they aren’t so sure anymore. A lot of time, they don’t trust anyone, so they’re suspicious of those people who say it gets better or who have faith in some kind of Higher Power. The people I talk with can’t imagine what some greater power might be if they even wanted to have faith.
At times, I wonder what seeds we can toss out, and if I find a few seeds to throw, do any of them land on fertile ground? Some days, we offer what we know, but none of it seems to matter. At other times, a conversation will lead to a huge shift in perspective. Or maybe it’s a chance word from staff, or something another resident says. Without even realizing it, we offer a seed, and that little seed grows, and eventually, a tree grows, full of ripe fruit. A harvest no one could have foreseen. Most of the time, we do the best we can, never knowing what helped and what didn’t.
Hope and Faith
So what keeps us going? Hope, freedom, joy, and love. And also Faith. A faith in something greater than ourselves that can change lives long after that person leaves our program. At least, that’s what keeps me going.
And part of what I have faith in is recovery. I know what it is to feel empty and scared. We have all felt that at least sometimes. And I still feel empty and scared now and then, but I don’t get invested in the emotions or get caught up in spinning the stories about them, so the moments pass, and I remember that I’m okay. No matter what happens, I am okay. And not just okay. I’m happy, free, hopeful. I trust in my family, my Higher Power, and sometimes even myself. I am happy, not because everything’s going right in my world, but because I am alive.
What better harvest can there be? And what better work can I do than spread the seeds I know how to spread and trust that they will sprout as they are meant to.
In faith and fondness,
Barbara
November 2012
