working the soil

(wrote this the last morning of my retreat as i watched robert, my new parish farmer friend, prepare the ground for planting. it is both metaphorical and literal. you may interpret it whichever way you please...)

Clay is not the
best soil within
which
to plant seeds.
Dense and unyielding to the
touch of mere hands,
it resists all
advances, rebuffs all
attempts to turn and
till.
And yet, the gardener toils on--
the back-breaking work of
redemption, worked
clod by heavy
clod.
Overturning that which is
on the surface (revealing
how shallow are
its roots),
the earth is laid bare--barren
and
broken before all--
vulnerable and
exposed.
Reverently and tenderly, the
gardener persists, nurturing this
valuable plot of
potential--
mattock in hand, patient and
undaunted.
There is much to be done--
much that is missing, much to
be reintroduced in this
restorative work.
He applies the refuse of our
lives to the
surface, working it into the
soil, trusting it will provide what
is needed. Trusting that--
in time-- the ground will soften
to his touch and
receive the tiny vessels of
life he is eager to
deposit.
Trusting that--
in time-- all will be
redeemed and the
soil in his
care will
bear
fruit.