I jumped on the shovel edge in my daughter’s pastel rainbow crocs. I found myself falling backwards, feet up and over, crocs, scattering. I burst out laughing, after mentally checking my ache-y, forty-something self for injury. I sure hope nobody I know saw me in the front yard of my parent’s home. 🤪😏👀 I planted the bulbs with my five year old as he stared at me with wonder. “Ok, ok, kid,” I thought, “it’s pretty unusual to see your mother shoveling and sweating, not to mention falling over.” Ha. 😂

I’ve been thinking about Jesus’ parable of the sower {Matthew 13:1-9} in relation to being a mother. Could it be that the enrichment of their soul earth is our primary, creative work? Our magnum opus? It’s sweaty, unseen, thankless soul-shoveling work. We add manure, pull out weeds, we prepare the soil with truth, beauty, and rich, good things. Why? By faith, slowly, we trust that eventually it will be ready to receive the seed of God’s Word.

Weaving in and out of this preparation, we grow in our gardening skills ourselves. We limp around on our bruised backsides 😏, callused palms smarting, and keep strewing bits of life and light. We stretch and use all the God has given us. RM’s song “Wildflower” stuck with me deeply after it was first released. He is speaking on his creativity journey, but the idea of growing a lasting, perennial ‘flowerwork’ instead of an instantaneously burnt out flaming firework. The bright and flashy is gone in a second. Long, lasting work takes a kind of death and humilty. Once the seed is tucked into the earth, it’s a work of long trust and patience. Motherhood and our creative work both need this mustard-seed faith and fallow season.

“Flower field, that’s where I’m at

Open land that’s where I’m at

No name, that’s what I have

No shame, I’m on my grave.”

~RM, English translation, Genius.com

The character Isobel in the YA fantasy, An Enchantment of Ravens, found out through her painting, the stark emptiness and abject horror of immortality. It’s not glamorous to work, live, grow old, and die while serving, creating, and loving, but it’s human. The created of a Creator creates. That makes it enough. It’s prayer and worship. Thankfulness by fullness of being. So much around us is so empty and vacuous. Without true meaning. A life of meaning means toil, back breaking, long-haul work with faith.

“I ask where you could be right now

Where you go, where’s your soul

Yo, where’s your dream?”

~ RM

So, where do our dreams go? They are still right here. Transformed into something human AND Spirit-powered. They may change form, a weaving in and out all that we are doing. Seasons of our servanthood with the gifts we’ve been given promise new morning mercies. Just as I can surely count on the perennial return of my mom’s tulips and daffodils, I can trust this slow, quiet blooming process is working in my children and in me, too. Thanks be to God.

How about you? How do you view relationships and creativity? How are you cultivating a culture of creative work while maintaining closeness and connections to your faith, family, and friends? I’d love to hear any thoughts! I’m still trying to flesh out what this all means…