The Garden: Growth Takes Time
Ordinary Time, faithful tending, and the sacred rhythm of slow growth
Whether it’s vegetables in tidy rows or wildflowers tumbling along the roadside, summer is full of reminders that growth is both slow and sacred. The garden doesn’t hurry—and yet, in its quiet and persistent way, it bears fruit.
When we lived in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, we had a small fenced-in yard. It was there that I discovered the meditative joy of digging in the soil. Strangely, it reminded me of my college ceramics classes—something about using my hands, shaping and coaxing, connecting with something elemental. It grounded me. That little patch of earth became both a creative space and a spiritual one.
There were often little helpers in the Pittsburgh garden!
Years later, in Michigan, we lived on a property that backed up to the woods. Inspired, I attempted a vegetable garden—but the groundhogs, deer, and rabbits seemed to think I’d opened an all-you-can-eat buffet just for them! Eventually, I turned my attention to perennials, finding joy in the color and shape and seasonal rhythm they brought. Tending those flowers became its own kind of faith practice—still quiet, still slow, still holy.
The Michigan garden
Now, in this new season of life, we find ourselves in Wisconsin. We’re temporarily living with our son and daughter-in-law while we wait to move into our new home later this summer. They’ve generously opened their space to us, and one of the unexpected delights has been watching our son’s front-yard garden flourish. With a degree in sustainable agriculture and a deep love of flavorful, thoughtfully grown food, he has transformed the lawn into a living, breathing patchwork of green. My favorite moment of the day is going out with our grandson to pick kale (which I dearly love to eat!). Watching his small hands reach into the leafy rows reminds me that tending the earth, and tending the soul, are often intertwined.
Ordinary Time in the church calendar mirrors this kind of faithful, humble growth. It’s the long stretch between the big celebrations—no grand alleluias or fanfare—but it’s full of richness if we look. It invites us to tend our inner soil with daily acts: a few verses of scripture, a quiet prayer, a small kindness, a pause to notice beauty. These are not glamorous things, but they are sacred.
Because like a garden, our spiritual lives require patience. Fruit doesn’t appear overnight. Beauty unfolds over time.
Faith Prompt:
What kind of spiritual fruit are you hoping to grow this season?
And just as important—what needs to be weeded out or nourished for it to thrive?
Whether you use it as a quiet spiritual practice, a family activity, or a thoughtful gift, each stroke of color becomes a small act of hope. Download Leaf by Leaf today and let your spirit bloom right alongside the garden.