Filling

Today my parents, niece and I wandered up and down the aisles of Lowe's garden department, dreaming of what to put in my garden. Audrey and I both "oohed" and "ahhed" over the colors, textures, and scents of everything from jasmine to dahlias. She also enjoyed shaking seed packets and dropping her sippy cup over the edge of the cart. But that is entirely beside the point. I'm not entirely sure what the point ought to be, but I originally created this blog so I could try and sift through my opinions on the theology of my life, my view of God's interaction with the world, and my oft-neglected study of the knowledge of God.

But back to the garden center.

Before I got sick (I use these words often), if I had an hour to spare I'd often spend it cruising the aisles of the local garden center, dreaming of my perfect garden, often bringing a pad and paper to write down scientific names to research later. When I was at my weakest, my garden, though far from perfect, cheered me. It was a link to life before illness---although I was consistently surprised by what came up where, the bulbs I had dug up in the fall and re-planted with my grandparents one Saturday in December grew into daffodils, iris, tulips and a myriad of other blooms when I needed them most. For those months, my roses looked bleak, as only rose bushes in Mediterranean climates can--they're just not quite sure if they should be ready for snow or sun, and each week surprises them until it is officially spring and they can bloom with abandon (as they are doing now).

Right, I was talking about the garden center.

Today, for an hour, I dreamed of filling my garden with new plants. On the way home, listening to my iphone on shuffle (which, by the way, I should do more, because no one is more surprised by what comes up than I am) I realized that I spend most of my time trying to, well, fill my time. This wasn't difficult when I was student teaching full time, going to class nights and weekends, trying to spend time with friends and Young Life kids, fitting in my hobbies as often as possible, and driving my way through 2 tanks of gas each week. But since my kidneys decided to, well, fail on me, my life didn't seem nearly as full. My time has been "filled" with television, reading blogs, and researching my disease, but it didn't feel full. And, quite frankly, I was upset about it. I've spent the last two months waiting for my "real" life to start again, upset that kidney disease put a damper in my plans. My optimism stuck around only as long as I had hope of getting back into my groove again, back into my full life. To make a garden metaphor, to dig up the weed of kidney disease and replace it with all the old things I loved doing.

But I realized today (about 11 weeks late, mind you) that this bout with kidney disease is always going to be part of the garden of my life. At first, I thought of it as an invasive weed that was choking out my other interests, drawing me away from friends and activities. The kind of weed that crops up everywhere, no matter how many times you think you've finally gotten rid of the last seedling. My research on Nephrotic Syndrome made me nervous of relapse, convinced, for a time, that I would forever be worrying about sodium and swelling. As time passed, and I responded to the evil-drug Prednisone, my fear of relapse has decreased, and I'm currently thinking that kidney disease may not be an all-consuming weed after all. Instead, it's a part of my garden that may not be as pretty as the rest, certainly not a plant anyone else would choose for their garden, but it's there, filling space. It's impossible for this experience to not leave an imprint on the rest of my life.

And I'm starting to realize that I want to let it change my life. Right now, I'm making fewer plans because I'm not physically capable of doing more, but when I'm back to my baseline standard of health, I plan on doing less and letting the important things fill my time and my life. I claim to serve the God who, in a flight of pure poetry, filled the earth, and with each creation, each filling, declared with surety that it is good. The events in the garden led to the brokenness of illness and death, but surely the God who can create good things, can redeem even an illness and make it good. Surely the God who has blessed me abundantly, more than I could ever hope or imagine, can direct me toward the people, ministries, and occupations in which I can do the most good. Surely the God of the universe can fill me and my time better even than I dream.