This morning, after my kids got on the bus, I walked the quarter mile back to our house from the bus stop, feeling overwhelmed, discouraged, disjointed. One of our children is struggling in significant ways, and it is very challenging to navigate this time in our family’s life. (While I won’t share more about that publicly, it is relevant to this story.)

I walked slowly, noticing that it was a gorgeous morning—blue skies, a lovely sunrise, and a cool breeze assuring me that it isn’t yet summer. I slowed my pace even more, taking it all in, savoring it with each step. As I approached our front door, I noticed some weeds in the front flower bed. I bent down to pull them, and they came out easily, the ground still wet from Tuesday’s rain. So, I broadened my view and saw several more weeds, which I also uprooted. It was so satisfying that after I had removed the handful of weeds out front, I headed to the backyard, where I knew there would be many more.

I got to work pulling clover from between the blooms in the beds that line our back patio and uprooting grassy sprouts from amongst the vegetables and herbs in the raised beds on the side of our house. I kept going until every visible weed had been removed, enjoying the cool air on my bare arms, the sun gradually beginning to rise over the trees. I began to feel this profound sense of wholeness—when only half an hour earlier, I had been feeling the opposite.

I should probably mention that I had intended to come home from the bus stop and spend time reading scripture and praying as a means of centering myself for the day ahead. When I began pulling weeds, I first chastised myself for delaying and cutting short my time of centering. But when I finished, I realized that I had indeed been praying and centering all along—that the physical act of pulling weeds had enabled me to reconnect with the One who created me from the dust of the earth, and long before that, created this earth with its blue skies and sun, its dirt for growing flowers, edible plants, and even weeds. The same One who created the rain that enables all to thrive.

And as I looked down at my dirty hands, mud under my nails, it occurred to me that while I thought I had been tending my garden, I had, in fact, been tending my soul.