My life is not a barren wasteland;
my life a garden in season,
full of richness and life.
My garden gives me good things,
and I am thankful for them all,
but some are more dear than others.
So I give up the things most dear to me,
for a season,
and I watch them grow,
and I watch them bloom,
and I watch them ripen,
and I am thankful for them all the more.
And sometimes the things most dear to me,
in the ripeness of their season,
fall to the ground and rot;
I am thankful for them all the same,
and I wait, patiently.
The season of lent is not the season of harvest.
But harvest will come.
And I wait, patiently, thankful for each passing day,
each day more dear than the last.