The small, slow steps work. Every time.
This is true of difficult decisions. True of preparing a gorgeous meal. True of creating beautiful art. The fastest track might yield “results,” but rarely offers a deep sense of fulfillment.
For the last three years, I’ve suffered a variety of medical malfunctions. Maybe I’ve suffered this way most of my life. After yet another surgery in January, my body began her shift, away from fighting and into healing. I wanted to expand, to add back routines and events that I’d neglected.
Instead I paused.
I asked, “What needs tending?”
I began within me and within my home. I could tell you all that I think I’ve “fixed.” But I know better. I know that healing is not “fixing” or “adding.”
True repair is a “returning.”
One of my “returns” involved my gardens.
When I say garden, I don’t mean only the beds where I grow herbs or vegetables. I don’t mean only the spaces I plant pollinators. I mean my heart, my family, and my mind. We are in a continuous space of rooting, seeding, rebirthing in our relationships and in our thoughts.
I consider my Free Little Library one of my gardens. Here, I offer books. Here, I remain in community with my neighbors. Here, a space to share what we value. A chance to note what we’ve tended.
This space needed tending, especially a fresh coat of paint and a more aesthetic base.
I hated the previous base, PVC piping, but didn’t have the energy or resources to replace it.
Here, a new beam. And a new shelf.
I’m certain the new shelf confused my neighbors. A few left extra books. Others left flowers.
Behind the scenes, I worked on an idea.
What I wanted to offer, along with books, was a seed library.
Isn’t this what libraries do?
This honored my sense of “return,” a small contribution of restoration to earth.
I packaged seeds in small envelopes.
Labeled.
Placed empty envelopes in a box for others to also easily share.
I printed a small sign, explaining the new neighborhood exchange.
Once the Little Library was painted, I added the sign.
The process was not a mighty one.
Still, It took almost three months.
Slow and steady.
Small movements forward.
No.
Not forward.
A step at a time to my place of return.
We forget that we began as community. We sat across from one another, sharing stories and food and laughter. We helped one another build havens. We healed each other.
The “return” for me is this deep connection with self, with source, with you.
Discover more from Rebecca Evans
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
To Tend. Tending. It’s an old verb, quiet, yet powerful. It’s the one I use when I speak about caring for friends and family members in need. Thank you, Rebecca!
LikeLike
Bonnie,
Thank you for pausing to read and share. “Tend” is an old verb and I use it often with my garden. Recently, a dear friend reminded me to “Take great care of your precious self.” And I put the word “tend” in there…Tend to my precious self. How much I needed that. And, to note, I don’t think I’ve ever referenced myself as “precious,” but now, I do. Thank you, Bonnie.
LikeLiked by 1 person