My son has been asking for a garden for quite some time. I, the owner of the black thumb, was not opposed but hesitant. He is a child after all. And he can often forget to take care of simple things. For example, I created a routine a few years ago to get him ready for school that when he gets going, he dresses, brushes his hair, and brushes his teeth. That isn't too difficult. However, there has been more than one occasion when he has sat at the kitchen counter for breakfast without brushing hair or teeth. Sometimes it is one without the other. Yeah, he's a kid. The responsibility of a garden scares me because I will be the one to care for it, and then kill it. That's too much pressure.
However, with much consideration, we decided to allow him his garden. The first week of April, my husband and son put together a cheater's version of a raised bed. On one side, in a four foot by four foot space, he planted herbs. Herbs in lines. Herbs for years to come! On the other side came the vegetables. Cucumbers, sweet potatoes, onions, tomatoes, green beans, and strawberries. Whew, that's a lot of plants! Some he chose to by the beginner plants already growing. Others, like the herbs, he chose seeds. Every morning I check his garden. Every afternoon I return. In the evening I check on it all. Each time I go out there, I'm looking for growth. One morning I found another little sprout rising to the surface. I know that we labeled each row carefully, and I watched as the boys created their rows, but this little guy didn't belong to a row. It seemed to grow between to labeled rows. I tried to figure out which herb I would be dressing my food with in a few short months, but I was lost as always. They all just seem to start out the same way. That was the moment I realized how similar our lives are to gardens. I know the nature versus nurture debate has gone on for years and I don't want to discuss it here, but those little sprouts had me thinking. God plants us in the womb of a woman. We have our genetic make up. We are who we are. The chives are chives. They will grow to be chives, not basil or cilantro. God knew exactly who I would be. He knew that I would be a sporto, jock, shorts and tank wearing writer who didn't want to write about the fitness world she enjoys so much. That's pretty cool. However, from our stand point, we look at those parents - in whatever capacity we have. The biological parents have given us genes that will make us who we are in part. I'm never going to be the perfect 5'8" that I wanted to be. Those dreams left in middle school. My beautiful eyes came from generations of a recessive gene on both sides of my lineage. How my parents raised me comes into play as well. I lived in a home with all biological family members. I never had to wonder who my real mother/father was. I didn't experience divorce, nor was I used as a bargaining chip in arguments. These are things others deal with on a regular basis. It forms minds and hearts. There are behaviors that are passed down through generations and it begins in the brain's development at a young age; things like stress, worry, fear, and anger. How amazing is that? We are finding out how addiction, depression, and cancer likelihood are passed on in families, but how the depression is dealt with can make a child go one way or another. The chives will be chives. How they grow, if they grow, will be on us. Did my son water the plants enough? Was the weather (something out of our control) working with us or against us? I have often started an herb garden with great success. The herbs grow. I water, give sunlight, and then I leave, or the ants eat them, or I forget. Who gave us water? Who led us in light? Were we left to then grow on our own far too soon, or did nourishment continue in our lives? It's interesting to see it all play out. In the argument of nature versus nurture, I came to a conclusion that I stand by today. It's both. I have pieces of me that I was born with. It is part of me whether I like it or not. How it grows and develops has been left to my environment and the people who tended the garden of my heart. I know this is a vague post. I simply fell in love with the thought that my God knew I'd be a hybrid plant. He knew that parts of life would be grafted in to make me who I am. He knew I wouldn't have to give up being "Sporty Spice", as my brother's friend called me, to be a writer, a mother, a wife, a crafter. I can be a hybrid plant in his garden. I can also give in to the genes that were given me that may not be as great as my eyes, or I can be nurtured to overcome the parts that could hold me back. At the end of the day, He has always known where I would grow strongest to be useful for those around me.
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