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We live in a time where we are constantly reaching outward. Stretching our hands as far out into the world as we can, grasping onto external sources that gleam like gold and guarantee good times, as long as we hold them tight. Always going, never still. Constant movement, never enough time--or--never just willing, to BE.

We travel--we dip our toes into faraway oceans, and walk down city streets paved with history so ancient our young minds cannot even begin to comprehend.

We crave entertainment--movies on building-sized screens take us away to far off places. We stand for hours at concerts and sing in unison among a sea of strangers, cell phone lights swaying side to side.

We seek to be social. Spending time with our people; hands to shake, hugs to hold tight, mouths that tell their stories and ears to listen as we share ours. 

Our world seems so large when we can easily reach so far.

But when our ability to reach out was put on hold…

we struggled. 

At least, I have struggled, with the world suddenly so small.

So slowly, with some fight, I’ve worked on changing the direction in which I was reaching. 

I turned my hands inward. 

I worried--what would I find? Or worse-what if I found nothing?! 

But I held out my hands anyway.

I looked for stories strung together in my own brain, waiting to come to life when given proper attention. My own history.

I dreamed up a world in my garden, and built it with my own two hands. Reaching downward, below the earth’s surface as I dig, and pull, and cultivate life. My hands are dirty from the work.

I have taken the time to research--not far off lands or the next big thing...but ME. 


Who is this strange girl, what makes her tick? I’m figuring it out, doing the digging.

I look forward to a day where normalcy begins it’s slow seep back into our lives. Crossing state lines and foreign borders and sun scattered skies to feel the salt of the ocean on my skin, or stand with strangers and subtly sway to our favorite song. I can’t wait to stretch out my hands into the world once again.

But for now, I’m learning to embrace my hands where they are, and just BE.

As the garden grows, so do I. 

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