Last week the buds on my pear tree burst open, the silent harbingers of Spring. The little boy finches at the bird feeder flitter in resplendent yellow and ruby, dressed for a fling with the shy girl finches in their drab dresses. From an open window the smell of vibrancy—new beginnings, promise, hope—floods the room.
Time to awaken. My winter dreams are ready for planting. I sort through the seeds for the one that will grow under tenuous conditions, the one that can survive my enthusiasm one day and my fear the next.
Dream planting is a process of believing in my worth, my purpose. Some days I need courage for the journey. My dream is wrapped in pieces of myself that have lain fallow for too long, the collateral damage of living in a rigid world of barren fields, deep ruts, and rocky outcroppings.
I water the hearty seed with my hope, mulch with faith, add a sprinkle of stardust and a cup of moonlight. An intention from the deepest depths of my soul is taking root. Will I keep it alive, hold it in highest esteem as a pattern for building my life’s purpose?
To myself, the gardener, I say, “Know yourself!” And so I dig in the warming soil of my own Spring, excavating treasures I have kept buried, bringing my unique attributes into the light. I place each gem around the dream seed, investing myself in my purpose.
Spring. A time for planting. Won’t you join me?
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