Today I overturned the vegetable garden. I pulled up the weeds, overgrown tomato plants, and dying squash vines. I left a few tomato plants and my basil, but mostly, I completed a final harvest and put the garden to sleep.

I love overturning the old, dried soil to stir up the black, rich earth. I love the look of a bare garden because I know what’s coming: a colder season, a time to replenish, and eventually, another spring.

But the whole process feels violent and unsettling. Covered in vines and branches, I attacked the stems, stalks, and roots. I carried wheelbarrow loads away. I tilled up the soil with sharp instruments. I yanked bean plants and chives and even old sunflowers.

If felt like the kind of work God sometimes does in the soul to make way for a new season. I forget that His pruning sometimes involves an overhaul and an overturning. Something’s been yanked away or chopped down. I see it as necessary and beautiful, no matter how difficult the work of it.

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