May 8 is a date I remember clearly. I was at work when the hailstorm moved through my area, and even through the windows, I could tell it wasn't an ordinary storm. The sound was fierce, the sky seemed angry, and I could only imagine what was happening outside. Even my teenage son, who is usually not afraid of anything, got scared by the angry hail pounding on our roof.
When I returned, the first thing I noticed was the ice
scattered across the lawn. It looked as though someone had bought bags and bags
of ice and poured them over the grass. We had not lived here very long, and I
had never personally experienced a hailstorm like that. For a moment, I simply
stood there taking it in.
Then I went to the backyard and almost burst into tears. My
young plants had taken the brunt of it. Corn, peppers, tomatoes, okra, onions,
cucumber, basil, oregano, mint, lavender, watermelon, cantaloupe, waterleaf.
The garden I had been nurturing was bruised, torn, flattened, and some plants
were completely damaged.
There is a particular disappointment that comes when
something you have carefully planted is destroyed in minutes. You remember
every seed you started, every cold night you protected it, every time you
checked the weather, watered the soil, or celebrated a new leaf. Then one storm
arrives without asking permission and changes the picture.
I uprooted the corn, okra, tomatoes, and peppers that were
too damaged to save and planted new seeds, this time directly into the ground
instead of starting them indoors. Somehow, the onions, waterleaf, bitterleaf,
and herbs survived. Slowly, they began growing back.
And then, a few days later… Another hailstorm! That one
almost got me. I really did not want to start all over again. But I didn’t
quit.
Once again, I pruned
what could be pruned. I replanted what needed replanting. And I nurtured
what remained, the best way I knew how. And in the days that followed, I began
looking more carefully. Some plants were gone, but others still had life in them.
Bent stems tried to lift again. New leaves appeared where damaged ones had
fallen.
Then something beautiful
happened. A few weeks later, you would never have believed those plants had
survived two major hailstorms. They grew. They bloomed. They produced. And
eventually… I harvested.
By the time I started picking vegetables from those plants,
I had almost forgotten about the storms!
Resilience is not
pretending the storm caused no damage. It is acknowledging what was lost while
tending what is still alive. A damaged garden is still a garden. As long as
there is life beneath the soil, another chapter can begin.
"...Weeping may lasy through the night, but joy comes with the morning" - Ps. 30:5 NLT
Some seasons may bruise what we planted. But they do not cancel the life still working beneath the soil.
Chidi - counselor, gardener, storyteller, and lifelong student of the lessons hidden in ordinary moments.
Garden & Reflections offers a glimpse into the experiences and everyday lessons that shape me beyond the therapy room. These personal reflections are shared thoughtfully while honoring the professional boundaries of the counseling relationship.