In the summer time, when school was out, my mama would plant her own garden.
40x40. That's how big it was. She'd sprout her own seeds,
set them on a table in front of our big window and let the sun shine
work its magic.
You'd find us all out working in the mornings: laying straw, hoeing
rows, weeding planters.
Most days the sun shone. And early on the mosquitoes hadn't come
It wouldn't be long and these days would be gone. Just like the
days when I'd stack my school work up, or sit and listen to history.
Times I thought those days would never be over.
Well, they are. And here I sit, wishing I would have loved the
more. It never occurred to me I'd miss the simple days. The
Garden's grow slow when you watch them. And this year I am. It's
slow, but they'll catch up when I'm not watching out. When life moves
too fast for you to catch your breath and take a sip of air around
you, that's when you've forgotten to watch it grow and let all seep
into the hole of time.
The hard part's just living, and not wishing you could live
somewhere else, be something else, do something else, just for a little
The hard part's sticking to the course you've acknowledged as the
right one, and not backing down on the unbeaten road. Knowing you
might stumble, but keeping at it anyway.
The hard part is trying to get back up. It's hard. Very hard. To
unbelieve something you've fooled yourself, unawares, into believing.
To uninfluence yourself and build up your guard again, against your
'Cause when you've done it, it feels like you've lost your
strength, and God bends you to your knees to beg for His strength