I love the month of June in the Pacific Northwest. It crests the horizon of summer with all the lushness and beauty of spring still in force. The vegetation encircles me, thick with growth, filling every gap in the soil, extending an invitation to linger and behold its glory.
Our maple tree blots out the sky, creating a natural umbrella over our sidewalk and pathway winding toward the front steps. The butterfly bush gently curves towards the brick archway over our porch.
Oh, and my blueberry bushes are loaded with berries from shades of the palest green to light lavender. As branches bend earthward every indigo hued orb beckons me to pluck and eat.
Carl and I have a pretend tug-of-war between his wish to shore up drooping stems and clip away wandering branches whereas I want every inch of growth, a billowing canopy of foliage. Our home feels sheltered by the natural world around it.
I love it.
I welcome it.
Maybe I feel passionate about the glory of June because I know July and August are around the corner. Rain showers will be less plentiful leading to crunchy, scorched lawns. My shoulders start to ache simply thinking about hauling a hose around to douse weary blooms.
There’s another plot of land I witnessed this week, different than my yard at home. It’s a corner lot that has remained empty after the leveling of a business. This dusty, dry barren land is enclosed by a chain-link fence. I’ve grown accustomed to this familiar sight, it’s become a fixture I often don’t notice. During a rare car ride this past week, while at a stoplight, I glanced across the intersection expecting the usual view but instead the fence was lined with colorful signs declaring Black Lives Matter, Justice for George, No Justice, No Peace, and other slogans. There were flowers and balloons woven and tied through the fence gaps. I sucked in my breath as my eyes hadn’t expected to land on this makeshift monument.
As I brace myself for the conditions and requirements of my summer garden in the weeks to come, I feel the twinge of concern about this cultural moment, will it be a sustained movement.
We long for racial injustices to be ripped from its soil like the weed it is and be replaced by the lushness of equality and compassion.
But in reality, we are still standing on ground which hasn’t been allowed to flourish circled by the beginning seeds of hope. I feel this hope beginning to take root in my soul but I remain cautious.
Don’t we all want our world to resemble the first garden described? A place which provides shade from harsh conditions and beauty to the eye, yielding an abundance of nourishment for all.
So many people have newly immersed themselves in black history and terminology over the last few weeks. It’s natural to desire branches heavy laden with fruit, anticipating change, and a new harvest. But it would be a mistake to believe a long-lasting harvest is possible after simply tilling the soil and scattering seeds. Slow, sustained work in every season is essential, especially during the harshest climates.
It might be discouraging to realize our world may resemble the second plot more than the first.
But I would suggest we are a people who are in the midst of the wilderness, one which may be defined differently than imagined.
a part of a garden devoted to wild growth
an area where nature is left to find its own path
We are a people with a plethora of different opinions and viewpoints. I believe the wilderness expresses what this particular time in history represents.
There are many people who have had their eyes opened during life slowing down during the pandemic and further by seeing the shocking reality of racial injustices. Four hundred years of history is being illuminated in such a way it can no longer be denied. This revelation for some is creating huge growth opportunities. For others, it is poking at them in a way that feels too uncomfortable to acknowledge or to slow down long enough to personally reflect.
Envision America as circled by the fence of those who want to secure the current laws of the land and definitely do not wish to see or embrace the wild abandoned growth of others. The ones who are stretching and processing are trying to tether their message onto the fence dwellers. They are crying, “work with us, be united with us.”
What remains to be seen is who will gain possession of all the remaining land still up for grabs.
Who will remain to keep fighting for justice and equality?
Who will keep speaking up even when words are rejected by friends, neighbors, co-workers, or family members?
Who desires to fully inhabit this time in history and not simply pass by?
I am hopeful. I also may have to admit Carl’s desire to shore up the drooping and trim away the excess might not be such a bad idea.
Support one another in this fight.
Continue to cut away old ideas and stereotypes and biases.
Allow time to digest new truths you encounter and learn.
Keep listening and asking yourself what is something only you can do to fight racism.
Everyone has a part and will look different from person to person. This is a good thing.
How I endeavor to fight racism will look different than someone else’s. A collective movement has many different facets, which enhances its beauty and value.
May we be people of hope.
May we never tire of doing the good work of peace.
May we walk alongside one another in solidarity.
May we continue to offer a hand to those who simply want to stay on their own path.
May we walk in humility.
May growth create change for others rather than puff ourselves up.
May we long for the day when all the land is flourishing and yielding a mighty harvest.
May there always be enough blueberries for everyone. Forever. Amen.