We Are Gardeners

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A woman with hands in pockets in the garden.

I remember the very first time someone called me a gardener.
It was an unassuming moment.
An offhand comment made with no real intention to identify.
But it hit me the very same way it hit when I first knew my name was beloved.
I was sitting in a chair under fluorescent lights with dirt under my nails
and all of a sudden I knew there was God in me.
I was more like Him then than I had known before.
Gardeners, He and I. We are gardeners.

Frozen rosemary.

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