By Brenda Blanchard
Author-Speaker-Bible Teacher

“Daddy, I want that row,” I said pointing.  “Can I have it?”

“Well…” he began.

“That’s not fair,” Shelly said with a scowl on her tanned face.  “Mom, she always gets first choice.”

“Girls, let’s not argue.  There’s plenty of garden for everyone.”  Dad gave Mom a smile that seemed to hold some secret between them.

Mom sorted through the seed bags while Dad tilled the soil.  Shelly and I stood side by side, and although I was the oldest, she was taller.  We looked at each other and knew sure victory for either of us was slim.

After a few more unanswered appeals to Mom and Dad, I walked to the row of freshly plowed ground and drew a line with my finger right down the middle.

“That’s my half,” I said pointing to the right and then to the left, “and there’s yours.”  We were used to halving almost everything, even our room.

“Fine, but don’t cross the line with any of your seeds.”  Shelly bent down and picked up a stick driving it in the ground on top of my fingerprint.

We halved the next two rows as well giving each of us a fairly sizeable piece of land.  We stood back and surveyed our halves.  No arguments arose indicating they were pretty equal.

However, nothing between us seemed quite equal.  Her beauty surpassed mine, but my popularity and ability to make good grades exceeded hers.  Somewhere along the way, we had forgotten the joy of being sisters who played dolls, and attended make believe tea parties.

“Girls,” Dad said, “Let’s get started.  Head over to your Mom and pick your seeds.”

Shelly rushed to the sacks Mom had set on the table.  I pulled out a folded paper from my hip pocket containing a diagram of my garden.  Of course, I needed to change it since my row had been halved.

I wanted my garden to have a certain manicured appearance.  I planned a visually appealing descending stair effect by placing corn on one end of the row and radishes, the shortest vegetable at full growth, on the opposite end.  The vegetables in between were placed according to height as listed on the seed packets.  Sitting at the table, I quickly scratched off several plants in each food group so my stair-step idea would still work.

Shelly took some seeds and rushed back to her half. “Dad, will you help me?” she squealed.

Dad gave her pointers on how deep to plant each seed and then dug a hole. “Drop one in,” he said.

He dug another hole about six inches from the first hole and said, “Again.”

Shelly dropped another seed.

I sat examining the seeds on the table.  If I noticed anything questionable like an odd shape or color, the seed became “unacceptable” for my garden.  Mom simply shook her head and scurried to help Dad before daylight slipped away.

Finally, I had all my seeds selected and sorted.  Shelly returned to the table and collected more seeds with no rhyme or reason to her selection. 
“Don’t you want to make sure they’re good first?” I asked.

“No.”

Gathering my seeds, I walked to my plot of fertile land.  Shelly was on her knees, her face covered with dirt smudges.  Her darkened hands worked the soil as her laughter filled the air.
“I’ve only got one more row to go.  You’re just now getting started.”  She stood up and casually wiped her hands on her clothes.

“Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be finished before the sun goes down.”

Shelly put her hand over her eyes and peered at the sun.  Moving to her final row, she began whistling the “Whistle While You Work” tune.

I knew she was trying to annoy me.  I ignored her and put my gloves on.

“Dad,” I yelled, “I’ve got corn here.  How deep should I plant it?”

“About four inches will be fine,” he replied.  “A hand length apart is good.”          

Meticulously, I measured each hole I dug using a notch on a stick to get the correct depth.  Then I used my hand to get the distance between each plant.

I was only part way through my first row when I felt a tap on my shoulder.  “I’m finished,” she exclaimed.  “You want some help?”

“Thanks, but…”

The cheerful glow in her face faded.

“Oh, okay, but…” I said as she bent down to dig a hole.

She looked at me and smiled.

I was going to tell her the guidelines for my garden, but for some unknown reason I didn’t.  Shelly measured one hand from my last hole.

I giggled with delight.  She really was going to do it my way.

She crawled in front of me digging the holes with her bare hands to the stick notch depth.

I followed her with my perfect seeds placing one in each hole and covering it

gently with the soil Shelly had dug up.  On the last row, I traded places with her.

 Looking to the sky, I guessed we had another twenty minutes.  I looked at Shelly, and she didn’t utter a word.  With a loud chuckle, I hurled the stick.  Eyeballing the planting proved faster and not nearly as much work.

Shelly grabbed my hands and pulled the gloves off.  “A little dirt never hurt anyone.  Just feel God’s Earth.  It’s got a secret.”

I examined my clean hands and then surveyed Shelly.  Her hands, face, and clothing looked like they belonged to the soil.

“Come on.  Try it.”  Her eyes pleaded for me to understand.

I pursed my lips and nodded.  Dropping to my knees, I scooped up a big mound of dirt and let the fine particles slowly seep through my fingers.  It was soft and slightly damp.

 “Funny, but dirt smells clean.”  I laughed.

I shoveled up another pile and threw it into the air watching it fall gracefully on my already planted rows.  The extra dirt didn’t seem to alter the design.
I dug the remaining holes with my bare hands.  The dirt conformed to the banks of the hole as I kneaded my fingers deeper.  The ground came to life beneath my fingers, and I felt the warmth of its soul.

Shelly was right.  God’s Earth does hold a secret, which can only be learned when one’s pulse flows into it.

As days turned into weeks, our half rows started sprouting leaves and stalks of vegetables, but not in unison.  Some peeked their heads out a week earlier than their neighboring plant.  When the late bloomers emerged, they caught up to the others and occasionally even grew taller.

All the while, Shelly and I together watered and pulled weeds.  We crossed each other’s halves without giving the offense any special notice.  Laughter bubbled from our hearts and long awaited smiles of remembrance graced our faces.

Finally, it came time to harvest.  Standing side by side, we looked at our garden with shared pleasure and to each other with rekindled love, knowing the secret Mom and Dad hoped we would find.  Our beautiful garden grew the way God wanted it to with a little help from the Earth’s breath and two sisters.

Brenda Blanchard, founder of The Door of Hope Ministries and Sisters in Christ Bible Studies, speaks and writes practical messages to encourage a one-on-one relationship with Jesus. See www.brendablanchard.com  Brendablanchard1@aol.com