UNCOMFORTABLE HARD WORK

My Dad helped me to start digging my vegetable patch yesterday.

He brought a spade, a half-moon shovel, a gardening fork, and a rake. We mapped out a square area by the fence and started digging.

It felt so good to be doing something with my Dad - especially something he enjoys. I flung the shovel in and poked around at the edges while he dislodged enormous clumps of earth with the gardening fork. 

My soil isn't great - there are loads of stones in it, and it seemed really dry and earthy. It will be hard work digging it all up - and my Dad says there is lots to do. However, he seemed really confident that this would be the hard bit, and that next year I could easily be pulling onions and carrots out of that same square of earth.

It is true that the preparation is sometimes the most difficult, yet the most important, bit of anything. Over the years I've come to realise that as a principle, you just can't skip it, even with talent. I've also come to realise that God doesn't skip it either.

There are lots of stones in my garden. The untended earth is dry and desperate for rain - and nothing will grow in it until it has been sifted, shaken, turned upside-down and tilled. That will be uncomfortable hard work. Meanwhile the roots of old plants and weeds criss-cross under the surface, long and ancient, hidden where no-one has seen them grow all these years. They must be uprooted, and the stones that have pervaded the earth must be removed and dealt with.

"It's got potential though," said my Dad, leaning on the fork. "Root vegetables are okay in sandy soil, so long as they go deep."

There were specks of rain in the air, so we packed the tools away in the shed, and I took him home. He comes to life when he's talking about how to help things grow. And I think to some degree, I come to life when he does. I love my Dad.