When we drove up the driveway to our new home in 1998 the grass was above our knees when we walked across it to meet our new neighbors. Our builder had told me he would have it cut before we arrived. I guess he had more important things to do. We arrived without a lawn mower because in 1988 my husband decided that he’d rather work on Saturday mornings in order to hire out lawn maintenance. I knew the acre lot was not a good idea, but here we were at our new home and in a pickle.
I contacted our builder for recommendations for landscaping. The Northwest is a haven for gardeners and plants are adored and doted on with climate that gives a bounty for the effort. I purchased my Sunset Western Garden book and began the process of acclimating myself to zone 5, better known as: “ Marine influence along the Northwest Coast and Puget Sound.” I was entranced with the abundance that this climate allowed. I began meeting with landscapers and the midrange estimates were $50,000! I was crest fallen and I realized if I wanted to beautify our weed ridden property of blackberry bushes and scotch broom that I’d have to become a self taught amateur landscaper.
I hired a few men to help with an irrigation system and planting of nine fruit trees, six flowering cherry trees and over one hundred bushes. My husband’s job became uncertain and this start up school dream caused paying for our daughter’s college tuition to become a leap of faith each month. Our health care policy was unexpectedly cancelled and life became even more uncertain. Grocery bills became burdensome and a gloom settled over our property and in my heart.
I kept reading about zone 5 and studied every business in town and noted what native plants they used. I became an obsessed wanderer of the local nurseries and lusted after ground covers, heathers, camellias, azaleas, lavenders and boxwood. I turned into a plant addict and longed for every moment in the yard. I lived for the sales at the end of each season. My fingernails were always dirt stained.
As the years went by, hundreds of dollars of bushes, ground covers, and fruit trees were pulled out or cut down. The yard became too much and things grew so big that even though I had allowed for growth they still needed to be removed. The fifty lavender bushes became too leggy. The fruit trees brought all the deer and raccoons in the surrounding forest and our raised beds were the salad bar for every four footed creature imaginable. I was easily in the yard forty hours a week weeding, fertilizing and pruning. No one seemed to notice the beauty and certainly no one noticed the sacrifice of time. After fourteen years of care I became embittered to my life and my husband. I regretted having traded tennis for plants.
I had tried to enlist my husband in planting when he arrived home from the airport. I’ll get him to desire home more, I thought. I’ll get him to be grounded. I’ll get him hooked on the joy of watching our plants grow instead of complaining of the rain. I’ll get him to enjoy fresh plums and English peas. But that never happened. And my resentment grew.
I turned into my mother who used to complain about her husband who went on motorcycle trips. I felt sorry for myself with a husband who was gone for work and recreation. I paid our monthly payment for the slip for our sailboat moorage and noticed how little we sailed. I allowed my anger to seed my heart and the joy of gardening became as soggy as the soil. This bitter root in my heart grew and I sought counseling in my misery. I realized yet again, I needed to change myself rather than change my husband.
That root of bitterness is a nasty weed that grows deep if not eradicated. My desires for beauty deepened and I articulated what I needed. Change did not happen overnight. In fact, change was slow. It took time and in the passing of a couple of years the boat left the water and lived next to the garage for a year or two. Finally, the dream of owning a boat died for my husband and it went up for sale.
It was a bittersweet afternoon when an enthusiastic man came with cash and the many one hundred dollar bills were counted on the kitchen table. I watched from an upstairs window and prayed that the trailer tires would not go flat as he drove down our driveway with our West Wright Potter. I wasn’t relieved or happy with the reality that gardening help was near. I was sad for both of us because the dream to sail had died on the vine. I no longer resented the boat or my husband. The weeds in my heart had already been pulled. It was the sinking deep reality that some dreams just don’t bloom.
I now have funds to pay others to weed my yard. I am grateful for their care and for the money we have to pay them. What once was a passion and important to my identity is no longer. I love my yard and the beauty it holds throughout the seasons. Other than my husband, few compliments are spoken about the property and it is well with my soul. The lessons it taught me about dreams and desires gone sour still unfold. The most deadly plant, bitterness, has been seized by the hands of prayer and yanked out of the ground. Wild beauty abounds in my yard.
Becky Allender lives on Bainbridge Island with her loving, wild husband of 36 years. A mother and grandmother, she is quite fond of sunshine, yoga, Hawaiian quilting and creating 17th Century reproduction samplers. A community of praying women, loving Jesus, and the art of gratitude fill her life with goodness. She wonders what she got herself into with Red Tent Living!
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Thank for continuing to offer us such honesty and vulnerability in your writing Becky. It invites me to do the same in my own world. Grateful.
Thank you, Tracy. Thank you for envisioning this blog site and calling me to the conversation.
Thank you for sharing your heart. As one who struggles with that nasty weed myself, your honesty was a reminder of God’s continual kindness and work. Thank you also for sharing your husband with so many, as I get to hear him in conference tonight and tomorrow. I can’t imagine that part of his work being easy, the apartness, so thank you for your unseen role there. It’s huge, as is the influence that the two of you have had on many hearts and lives, including that of my husband and me. I feel blessed to be hearing from you both on the same day. What a gift.
Thank you for seeing the “apartness” and the hole of Dan’s absence that has been God’s invitation to wrestle and embrace Him throughout the many avenues of life over the decades. It feels sweet to hear you include me in the influence of my husband’s teaching of healing and freedom. Thank you.
Dear Becky, The early time of gardening you write about is near the time I first learned of Dan and attended a Recovery Week on Paulsbo Island. The gardening of my heart to root out my bitternesses would be long and full of weeds and days of hard work. I envisioned this woman beside Dan’s side as perfection, having your every need and desire met, never struggling with the roots of ugliness I was realizing were stifling my growth as a woman of God’s beauty. God would not allow us to meet until many years later and what a gift of your face, your words and your honesty. You remind me that we are more alike than different, we all in our Red Tent community face struggles and none have everything in order as we long. That won’t happen here. Your words invite me to believe they will happen once we are HOME. Thank you friend, Valerie
Thank you, Valerie, for seeing the connection of your journey and mine. It was a gift to have our paths cross a few years ago at “The Journey”. I marvel how that group time and teaching catapulted me to a deeper awareness of being an orphan and embracing sorrows I had pushed aside. Thank you for your encouragement and your service to weed out bitter roots in others.
Your writing is like a gallop through the wild terrain of your heart, and the view is enchanting. Thank you for continuing to invite us along for the ride! I love you, dear friend.
Dear Kelli, I am excited about the wild terrain of your heart and how you are wildly choosing adventure instead of safety. You, my friend, see the topography of other hearts and I am grateful you are embracing your calling.
Oh Becky, this is so beautiful. Thank you for taking us inside your costly internal war, and thank you even more for fighting it. I would never think of you as a bitter woman, so thank you for helping me feel more normal in my own struggle. Hooray for gratitude and freedom! I enjoy your writing so much – I cracked up upon reading about the salad bar for the four footed creatures! P.s. I have always admired your gardens and the labor of love behind them.
Dear Jan, thank you. You are kind. Bitterness…like mosquito bites…happen out of no where and we are bitten over and over again. Hooray for freedom and the costly path it takes to get there (ugh…kidding on that one! But that seems to be the journey of wrestling with our Creator over and over again. Heaven will be so wonderful) And, thank you, for noticing the labor and enjoying the labor.!
Becky-
As I read this I love the transition of tending the garden and yard to the tending of your sweet heart so that it blooms versus grows the weed of bitterness. Thank you for sharing so vulnerably. I always love reading your writings,- joan
Thank you Joan for taking the time to comment. I appreciate you and your kindness through your blog and written words.
Beautiful garden, beautiful words, beautiful thoughts, beautiful sister. Today spring has come to central Ohio.
Thank you, thank you, Judy! What a kind and beautiful blessing from a beautiful and kind sister!
Dear Becky, Thank you for this beautiful entry…for being honest about the years it takes (until we reach Heaven, really) to wrestle with the wildness of the journey God takes us on. I had to smile at the picture you painted here…”It was a bittersweet afternoon when an enthusiastic man came with cash and the many one hundred dollar bills were counted on the kitchen table. I watched from an upstairs window and prayed that the trailer tires would not go flat as he drove down our driveway with our West Wright Potter. ” I have (figuratively) stood at that same window praying that the tires of a flat bed truck would not go flat as the driver drove away. We even kept the money in an envelope for 2 weeks — just in case! I have known the seeding and rich fruit of your prayers on my behalf and on the behalf of other attendees at the first Allender Center training for counseling in trauma and abuse certification in St. Louis in 2010. I even got to speak with you briefly at two separate times during the last meeting. There could not be a man as free to be what God has called him to if there were not a praying, giving, loving, gratefully dependent on God wife to support his dreams. Thank you. Though the sailing boat dreams “dried up on the vine” you and Dan have launched many ships worthy to sail the rough waters of surrender and change. Thank you for who you are and for who you pray others will become in the wild, crazy grip of Jesus. Christine
Dear Christine, thank you for your kind and generous words. I love your sentence “you and Dan have launched many ships worthy to sail the rough waters of surrender and change”. Wow. Beauty and kindness you sent to me with your note. Thank you does not seem to say what my heart wishes to give to you. Thank you and so much more is left unsaid….
The beautiful picture of your yard (oh my goodness!) reminds me of the beauty God will make of our lives when we consult the Great Landscaper….Hurts are so difficult to navigate even in the midst of those consultations! My heart related to much of what you shared-thank you for the sweet encouragement of being on the other side of that battle- and I enjoyed a giggle at the end that I also call my hub a wild man in my description of him to others.
Dear Keith, it is so sweet of God to connect us after our early years together being pregnant and having our babies. Ahh, yes, your title of “Great Landscaper” is perfect and so clear. I am grateful that that is truly who God is! And, oh my goodness, YES!!!! You married a wild and dear, lovely man. Love to the two of you across the many miles and years.
Thank you for once again sharing so transparently with us. You have had to share Dan so much over the years; your sacrifice has brought healing to so many. “Thank you” seems so shallow…but, thank you. And thank you, also, for how you bring beauty to your surroundings, wherever you go! <3
Nina, I am grateful we met in Chicago last year. I pray and think of you often with your new journey that is taking you to new landscapes. Thank you for your kind words and seeing the depth of labor these years have been. Blessings and may you feel Him beside you every step of the way.
Oh Becky, once again I am left almost speechless by the profound nature of your words, your voice, your writing. You put in beautiful prose what so many of us feel and struggle with but yet no how to name. Please, oh please start writing that book…..
I love you.
Laurie, dear Laurie, you always reach the deep places in my heart with your prophetic voice. Thank you for spurring me on and validating goodness and mercy and hope. I love you.
So honest and beautiful. I made friends with the moss in my grass. It is soft under bare feet.
Ahhh, you wise friend, show me new and good ways of living. Your wisdom leaks out in kindness and wit. I will need to take my shoes off when I walk the many places in my yard that is moss covered and enjoy… instead of feeling lazy for not taking the time to eradicate it. Truly….your words bring life.
Yep…love this. Been there…done that. Time for bitterness to be gone and kindness to abound. There it is. I’m breathing in the goodness of no yard to maintain, the lake to enjoy, the sunsets to savor and a husband I’m growing old with. Thank you for thus refreshing truth!
Dear Mary Jane, you are just a bit ahead of me on the journey. I love that the lake is yours to enjoy without a yard. I long for that some days but not yet. Love to you and John as you enjoy the sunsets in Michigan and Florida.
I too am an avid gardener. Sometimes, especially in the spring, an overwhelmed gardener. But the smell of dirt is intoxicating to me. And the beauty that shows up amidst the dead is always exhilarating for me. I’m leaning I cannot do it all, I cannot be it all, I cannot fix it all. I’m just one person who enjoys dirt and the beauty that springs from it. That is becoming enough.
Dear Barbara, thank you for your book of wisdom you wrote! ” I’m leaning I cannot do it all, I cannot be it all, I cannot fix it all. I’m just one person who enjoys dirt and the beauty that springs from it. That is becoming enough.” Seriously, I will read this often and launch myself in to new fields of freedom. Thank you. Yes….I too love the smell of dirt and the coolness in my hands.
Spring has arrived in West Virginia. Walking the road the other day and a memory of walking at Griggs park in the early spring with you and seeing the new buds. It had been a long winter (for a 9th grader) as it has this winter. The realization that I had made it through the winter and spring was here and life reborn again.
Dear Tom, what joy your comment brings to my heart. Oh…the trials of ninth grade and now the season of our 62nd year they continue to be hurdles which require hope and fortitude. Your presence brings delight and I am grateful that the winter is behind you. You tend the earth and fellow sojourners with care and love….I see you.
So much beauty in your words and in your honesty, Becky. Thank you again. The line, “some dreams just don’t bloom.” Woah, yes. Thank you for the invitation to embrace wild beauty!
Thank you Bethany. It is a very hard line and one I want to embrace and relinquish more…”Some dreams just don’t bloom.”
Dear Becky, I join with the others in thanking you for your courageous journey and willingness to share it with others. You allowed me to join you in a small part of your journey pre-zone 5, and I enjoyed you then. It is so encouraging to read of some of the next part of your life. Hope you get back to Dallas someday soon.
Dear Margret, thank you. Your presence always brings kindness and intrigue. You are a woman who deeply feels and your face always invites others to the abiding calmness of your trust in Jesus. Miss you.
Becky, I am very grateful for this article which pays such a tribute to important parts of life that often get overlooked–in our responses to the mundane parts of life we can find both beauty and bitterness and our hearts need tending as much as do our yards. I rejoice about so many things that came to mind while reading your article, such as the fact that our much-beloved school survived, that you and Dan survived, and that all of us have been transformed in the process. I am in a similar process of the long and arduous task of taming te yard of our family home of 50-some years, after our parents were no longer able to do it or afford help. Tilling the soil has become a source of tilling my heart, my soul, my life. And as well, a source of reward and of hope. It seems every weed I pull has a purging and purifying effect on my heart too. Life is good when we tend to roots of bitterness and allow the slow progress of change and transformation to become reality. Just as the beauty of my blooming bulbs from Washington state transform my back yard and remind me of te deep soil tilling that happened while I lived in Washington. Life is good and I would not trade mine for anyone else’s.
Thank you Elise. My favorite sentence of all that you wrote is, “Life is good and I would not trade mine for anyone else’s.” That truth you inhabit would change the world if each person embraced even a portion of that treasure you own. May I carry that in my heart more and more each day. You have given me new strength and joy this morning.
Grateful for your words and heart that stir me to wrestle and rest and seek God alongside you. That He reaches into the overgrown tangled mess of our souls to redeem and restore beauty in them is astounding! So glad you shared your beautiful story 💜
Thank you, Cheri, for taking the time to affirm this message. How lovely we are collectively as women who recognize and allow God to “weed the mess of our souls to redeem and restore beauty”. Love sent to you this morning….
As one who appreciates the beauty of well-landscaped gardens, yet not the constant work of tending them, I was inspired by the amount of work you put into creating such a lovely space. And yet I hear that the cost of being in that space alone was high. It is so hard to hold grace and kindness rather than bitterness in the places where we long to have someone join us…I have nursed that same bitter root in my waiting for Chris as well. Thank you for the gentle reminder to be vigilant in yanking it out so the wild beauty can grow.
Thank you, Janet. Oh, I wish wisdom would come quicker and thankfulness easier. May we become more and more thankful that we have hands and feet to help us in our “alone” tasks! Nice to know that you are a fellow gardener of “one half”.