Finding Religion in my Garden

Ack! I went back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth some more with the title.

The voice in my head was questioning everything. Religion? Really, Sarah?

Yes, really.

Remember when I shared that my religion is nature? I’ve known that for a long time. Nothing brings me closer to myself and my world and those who have shaped me than gardening.

Spirituality & Gardening

The garden is where I go when I’m upset. It’s where I go when I’m happy. It’s where I go to take a break. It’s where I go to do nothing. It’s where I go to procrastinate. It’s where I go to figure things out.

When I’m in the garden, I meditate. I think and overthink. I cry. I laugh. I talk to myself along with the birds, bees, flowers, plants, and my dad. I daydream. I get grounded. I find joy.  I let go.

To me, this is spirituality more than religion. But, if my religion is nature, what’s my prayer?

Growing up Jewish, Hebrew prayers never meant much to me—probably because I didn’t understand them. Don’t get me wrong. As an adult, I’m all about the tradition that comes with being raised Jewish and have an appreciation for the prayers. But I still don’t understand them.

When visiting my mom’s parents in North Carolina, we frequently started meals with “Good bread, good meat, good god, let’s eat.” No doubt this was simply to elicit a round of giggles from my brother, my sister, and me. I’m still fond of this “prayer” and have been known to start family dinners with it.

My Prayer for How I Feel in the Garden

And more than how I feel in the garden. How I feel about everything that is part of the garden? And part of me? And part of my life?

This…this is going to be my new prayer for most everything.

I can imagine savoring a long summer day with dinner on the deck. Not sure what I’m serving but definitely includes freshly harvested vegetables and a nice glass of wine. This prayer feels right.

Conversely, I can imagine a cold winter day with dinner inside. Again, not sure what I’m serving but probably includes slow-roasted tomatoes that were cooked and frozen at the end of summer. And a nice glass of wine because, well, wine. This prayer feels right.

Maybe more importantly, I can imagine feeling overwhelming joy or grief or contentment in the garden. And, yes, this prayer feels right.