I consulted with my local gardening guru, and he said he thought the last frost had passed. So, this past weekend, I sowed the season’s first seeds. The weather got up to 70 degrees, and I couldn’t help but feel hopeful as I worked. Dirt under my fingernails always makes me feel better about my life and the world; there’s something beautifully elemental about garden prep — the work before anything starts to sprout.
Last year, at the behest of Fiona, my brilliant co-author and avid naturalist, I bought a large compost bin. As a family of nine, we consume A LOT of fruits and veggies, and I sensed composting would not only be good stewardship but also financially advantageous. Compost purchased at the local co-op is expensive these days!
For the last twelve months, pausing only in the coldest ones, we’ve faithfully filled that bin and rotated it, hoping for rich supplement for the garden this spring.
I’ve learned a lot from that rotating black bin over the last year, lessons that have surprised me as they’ve instructed me on more than just gardening. And, when I opened it this weekend in hopes of reaping rich soil for the beds, I remembered again why I love this process every year. Here’s what came to mind.
#1 You’re Not the Boss
When I opened the trap door on the compost bin this past Saturday, I planned on grabbing handfuls and transferring my fresh compost straight to the garden. Unfortunately, nature said, “Wait.” Inside the bin lay rich black soil, yes, but there wasn’t much of it. While the plant waste had definitely decomposed since I’d last checked it, the process wasn’t yet complete. I closed up the bin and moved on to other tasks. Nature would tell me when she was ready; I wasn’t the boss of this project.
#2 Balance is Everything
Time would help when it came to creating a complete bin of compost, but it isn’t the only necessary element. Fiona took one look at the bin and quickly assessed another issue — there wasn’t enough green material. In composting, the dry brown material (leaves, dried grass, onion peels) must balance with green material (apple peels, rotting fruit, celery leaves). Throw that balance off and you grow mold. Tip the scales the other way, and your compost dries out entirely. Composting isn’t rocket science; you don’t need to get your balance within a millimillionth of correctness. However, you do need to remember that “moderation in all things” is the name of the game. To accomplish what you hope, you must seek balance.
#3 Everybody Needs a Little Help
I hate it when I open the compost bin and little fruit flies swarm out, but there is one companion in the compost that I really love: the lowly earthworm. As I dug around in the garden beds this past weekend, turning over the soil to prepare it for seeding, I kept an eye out for these little fellas who make the compost bin a productive place. Earthworms aerate the soil, and they do the same as plant matter decays in the bin. They add oxygen to the mass of waste, and they speed up the decomposition process with their own eating through the junk. In composting, as in life, you really can’t go it alone.
#4 Death Always Brings New Life
Once the sun begins to heat up the black compost bin, the real work begins. Warmed to a toasty temperature, decay quickens and transforms scraps into beautiful, nutritious black earth. Compost isn’t as nutritious for the soil as what will come in that yellow and green bottle you get from Home Depot’s gardening department, but it’s a really good natural supplement to the soil you’ve already got in your beds. It’s a little death that helps to bring new life to the garden. The same is true for decay on the forest floor and in the leaf pile you left over from last fall. Decomposition breaks down the dead, providing a gentle source of sustenance for the life that will inevitably grow there in the days to come.
I know you see these things too in your life with grief. As you stand beside the compost heap of the life you lived before, you see a lot of death and decay. Rotted dreams, crushed plans, and brown, shriveled hopes. It’s hard to imagine that new life could grow out of that. Surely, new life could only grow in spite of that. I want to tell you, friend — don’t believe that lie for a minute.
God’s wisdom in nature tells a better story. Our experiences of death are the birthplaces of new life (Ephesians 2:4-5). Trusting in this, we can relinquish our timelines and let the Good Gardener make all things beautiful in his time (Ecclesiastes 3:11). We can release our need to be the boss and let balance guide us in our decisions of when to work and when to rest (Isaiah 28:24-28).
Finally, we can lean on each other — encouraging, exhorting, lifting each other up — knowing that this work of building a new life after loss isn’t a solo endeavor. Life in Christ is always life in community. We all need a little help from our friends (Hebrews 10:24-25).
What Reminder Do You Need Most?
What lesson from the compost pile feels most relevant to you today? Tell me in the comments! I’ll pick one random winner and send you a copy of my new devotional, The Beyond the Darkness Devotional: 40 Days of Encouragement in Grief.
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