Watering Dirt

“I have to go water my flowerbeds,” I said a few weeks ago.

Flowerbeds—not flowers. There were no flowers yet, but “I have to go water my flowerbeds” sounded much better than “I have to go water my dirt.”

But you know what you have to do to get flowers and, later, fruit?

Water dirt. Often. For weeks.

A lot of life feels like watering dirt. We paint and scrub and rearrange, leaving chaos in our wake, and only after years of effort does our house become a home. We continue to get coffee with someone over and over before an awkward acquaintanceship becomes a comfortable friendship. We battle the same sins day in and day out, perhaps not seeing how far we have come until some pivotal moment forces us to look at the long uphill road behind us.

Here’s a personal example: Writers will write every day with only a publication here and there. The best days are, more often than not, simply those when we write more words than we delete.

In our culture of immediacy, we can’t stand “watering dirt.” We want results and we want them now. We go to church sporadically and become cynical: why it hasn’t changed our lives yet? We eat at home once or twice and are shocked to see that our bank account hasn’t boomed. We say a single nice word to our spouses and cannot believe they don’t appreciate the effort we are making. We practice our instrument or sport for an hour here and there and can’t figure out why we are still making the same mistakes.

But we have to keep showing up, even and especially when there is no perceptible progress. Who knows what inner battles we are winning? Who knows how many seeds are germinating and taking root beneath the soil? Who knows how our steadfast stewardship is forming us and encouraging others?

We have to keep watering our dirt, even when the growth seems absent. Even if it feels silly. I assure you that I felt silly every time I stepped outside my house to do gardening or yard work. Several of my neighbors are retired and, between their time and experience, have perfect lawns and gardens. Meanwhile, I would go out to water the clumpy dirt in wooden planters that are decaying before my eyes.

But my neighbors’ gardens are their gardens, and my dirt is my dirt. It’s what I was given and throughout the last month, it was my job to water it until it bloomed into something better.

If you’re in a season of seeming emptiness or stagnation, please keep watering your dirt. Let God give growth in his perfect timing. Maybe the fruit you’re cultivating is not in season yet. Maybe, like my zucchini plants, it just needs a bit more time before—seemingly overnight—it will break free from the soil and overflow the edges of its planter.

The last two weeks have brought alternating rain and sunshine. Finally, I had a break from watering my dirt. And you know what I found this week when I went outside? The broad leaves of zucchini plants, bunches of fresh cilantro, and flower sprouts galore.

The growth is finally showing. I just had to keep showing up.

Keep watering your dirt, friends.

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