Pottering with Promise.

I used to be a quilter. I made bed quilts, wall quilts, table runners.
Then I jumped to knitting and crochet. I made dish cloths, dinosaurs and rugs. 
In between all of that, I've tackled my outside spaces with varying degrees of success. I call myself a wanna-be-gardener because I don't really know what I'm doing. What I grow well seems to have more to do with the plant itself than my skills as a gardener. And watering regularly would probably help a lot (a lesson I'm learning the hard way as my favourite lychee tree dies. Waaaaa!).
But even without developing my expertise, there's a promise in gardening that has nothing to do with me. A promise of growth, of new things, of hope perhaps. And ​I think it's pottering with this promise that keeps me at it. 

The other day, as I was watering (go me!), I noticed a bird's nest in one of our camelia trees.  I stood on tip toes while the mother bird had flown away and snapped this shot. It's blurry. But look: it's little life! Promise. New things coming despite the harshness of the world. 
I'm trying to keep my eyes open for moments like this. Counteracting negativity and weariness with a stubborn grip on beauty. Giving myself permission to enjoy the lovely within the scope of my limits. 
​Reading too, can be a bit like that.

I wander through books like I wander through my garden. Mulling over ideas, searching for possibilities, and being challenged too (funny how books can remind you of where you have forgotten to water parts of your life). Reading, and writing, become other ways I potter with promise. Looking ahead and behind for ways to frame meaning. Pulling thoughts together, making connections.
One of the dreams I've toyed with over the years has been to create a space writers could use as a writing retreat. Somewhere they can focus deeply on their writing, making those important connections and inching a project towards its readers. From my own experience, I know how valuable retreats like this can be. So, another way of pottering lately has been setting up our back shed as an available space for writers*.  

Creating spaces - be they physical or attitudinal - can sound all highfalutin, but the reality is much simpler. I'm no creative genius. I have no false pretenses about how I garden, write, or even how I observe the world. I'm just doing my best to live and work and worship too. And promise is what pulls me through. 
I potter with promise. The promise of change, of beauty, of hope and growth; none of which I can do on my own. Because above all the temporary glimpses of promise scattered throughout my life are the enduring promises of God. 

One day, I plan to take up my quilting again. I'd like to make a wall quilt of my own design with hundreds of brightly fabric yo-yo circles spilling to the ground. I'll call the piece, 'All God's promises are Yes!'. I imagine it hanging on my lounge-room wall, reminding me to hold on. Keep my eyes open, my heart awake. I've started making the yo-yos. But mostly, I'm still pottering. 
Gardening, dreaming, doing, growing.
Pottering with promise in my everyday.

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* Writers interested in using the writing shed can send me an email.