I have never met a mess I didn’t clean up. I have never enjoyed getting dirty. I loathe crumbs and spills and stains and sticky hands. I love tidy and neat and sanitized and clean.
Enter two little boys.
Dirt is a delight! A wonder to behold (and throw).
Can you even believe that allllll the toddler experts sing the praises of messy play!!?
Apparently, it’s good for our development to roll around in the grime from time to time. It’s healthy for our heads and hearts to have yucky hands. We grow and mature in the muck and the dirt.
It turns out, there is beauty in the mess.
As we’ve begun to plant our spring garden, I’m remembering one of the very first poems I wrote 5 years ago. It was born out of a long season of trudging through the mud of darkness and waiting and questions without answers.
I didn’t know then what I know now. Like seeds buried deep, there was so much more going on in the dirt, under the surface, than my eyes could see just yet. It was messy— this tilling and pulling weeds, uprooting and breaking hard ground. But it was necessary to strengthen the soil. To strengthen my soul.
We plant seeds in April that won’t sprout until August because we believe that the dirt will do the work that only the dirt can do.
For today's edition of our Selah Letter, I give you a long poem, a short creative practice, and a simple prayer, in the form of a liturgy for spring planting.
As this is (ahem) the lengthiest poem I've ever written (and probably ever will), may I suggest you read it in a "lectio divina" style, listening quietly to your heart and letting just one or two lines rise to the surface for you to meditate on further.
May you find here a few honest words to carry with you in your own season of tilling or planting or watering or waiting. And may you hold out a springtime hope that there is indeed a richness buried in the darkness.
Now, onward to today's poem+practice+prayer centered around the beauty of dirt.
While we wait for the good stuff to grow,
Sarah
Be sure to catch the P.S. and P.P.S at the end!
THE DARKER THE DIRT
by Sarah Bourns Crosby
The darker the dirt, the richer the soil.
It’s true, I googled it—
The most nutrient rich soil is the inky black stuff
Thick with manure and compost,
Worms and decay.
And this?
This is where life is planted.
Seeds only grow in the dark,
Buried deep, far
From the day's light.
Spring only opens her eyes
After winter's long,
Long night.
A caterpillar forms wings
Within the stillness of the cocoon.
A baby’s heart begins to beat
Inside the silence of the womb.
Germination
Incubation
Gestation
Hibernation
All of these take place in the dark.
It would seem, then, that darkness
Is one of the key ingredients
For transformation.
Jesus himself,
The Light of the World,
Yielded to darkness.
In some of His most profound moments on earth
We find Him up late at night
Awake before the dawn
Calming grey stormy seas
Praying in a dimly lit garden
Hanging under a sunless sky
Laying enclosed in the tomb.
Jesus knows darkness.
Jesus knows waiting.
And He waits
With us
In the dark.
Like seeds, He buries us,
In the inky soil of waiting.
And He says,
Unless a kernel of wheat
Falls deep into the ground
Breaks open,
And dies,
It remains only a single seed.
But,
If it waits
It will grow roots.
And those roots,
They’ll produce shoots.
And those shoots will break ground
And bring forth
Much
Fruit.
But oh, the long wait
In the stillness of the soil
In the stillness of the soul.
When only then
You really know
Just how slow
A seed grows.
And the waiting feels unending
And the questions don’t have answers
And it seems like nothing
Is happening
At all.
Take heart.
There is so much more going on in the darkness
Under the surface
Than your eyes can see just yet.
...
You’re waiting today.
Your way seems dark.
You feel as though you are being buried
Down in the deep.
Jesus is there too,
waiting with you.
In the dark night of the soul.
In the deep dark of the soil.
And sometimes,
He doesn’t turn on the light.
But always,
He is with us through the night.
And He says,
Dear one,
There’s a depth that comes in the darkness
You can’t know any other way.
There’s a peace budding slowly from within
That sustains you for today.
There’s a beauty hidden in the fog
If only you have eyes to see.
There’s a richness buried in the waiting
That only time reveals.
And perhaps, what feels like a burial
Is more of a planting.
And perhaps, what seems like dying
Will one day be resurrecting.
And perhaps, what looks like darkness
Is simply the moment
Before
The dawn.
Poem inspired by John 12:24
A PRACTICE
Paint a Word Picture
Using the metaphor of gardens, seeds, and soil, paint a word picture for the current state of your soul.
Are you in a season of tilling or pruning or reaping?
Close your eyes and imagine your life today as a garden, what do you see?
How is the Lord inviting you to tend to the seeds? to water the soil? to wait in hope? to cultivate what is growing in your soul?
Perhaps you may write down or draw what God is bringing to mind or describe it to a trusted friend.
You could also share it in the comments below, simply as a practice of noticing and naming what the Spirit is up to these days. I’ll go first :)
A PRAYER
A Liturgy for Spring Planting
by Sarah Bourns Crosby
``
O God who made humans out of dirt,
Thank you for bringing forth life
From the muck and mess of this earth.
As I dig through the soil
Tilling and turning it in my hands
May I savor this rich darkness
A fertile place to plant.
As I bury these seeds
Releasing, letting go
May I trust in the deep work
And believe that goodness will grow.
As I wait and watch and water
Cultivating sacred ground
May I hold hope for future fruit
And see Your faithfulness even now.
Yes, Great Gardener of my soul
You know just what I need
You bring beauty from the dirt
You breath life out of the deep.
Oh, may it be so
In this place
And in me.
P.S.
Our next Monthly Prayer & Practice is tomorrow, Thursday April 25th at 3pm EST! I'll lead us through 4 movements of discernment from Jeremiah 6:16. If you're in the midst of change, perhaps "standing at the crossroads" of a transition or decision, this one is for you! REGISTER HERE. (It's always free to register and I'll send the recording afterwards if you're not able to make it live.)
P.P.S.
You’ve gotten to know me a bit through these letters, and I’d love a chance to get to know you! I created this very short survey for you to tell me a few things about yourself and why you’re here :) so I can continue to write what you want to read. I would be so thrilled if you’d take it! (cue happy dance)
I am in a season of tilling where what was there is being uprooted. Those crops were good, but they are over now. A green stock still dots the field here and there, but most is gone. This is a hard time because we don’t know when or what the Farmer will plant next. It is not up to us. It is a time of waiting and trusting that He does have plans and they will be good. It is also a time for rest. A time to breathe a little before the tiring work of growth occurs. “Rest, Child. As the field rests between seasons, so you can rest. I will return with the seeds when it is time.” Love, the Farmer.
Thank you for this. It is very timely as I’m in a season where I’m looking for the beauty in the pain more than other times of life. It’s painful but I’ve also felt freerer and can reappreciate small beauties in deeper ways than before