Why I Love My Worms

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It’s October and the Pacific Northwest’s notorious depressing grey clouds and rainy deluges are just peeking over the horizon. Wet weather threatens the vibrant multicolored beauty of our West Coast fall and I’m tempted to burrow deep into my blankets and spend the rest of the winter snuggled safely in the cozy familiarity of my bed. It doesn’t help that deadlines and responsibilities are looming. Sunday school lessons need to be compiled, groceries need to be gotten, piano lessons paid for, schedules coordinated, aging parents attended to and immigration documents processed.

I wish I could flick the worries away like a mosquito. But God didn’t make it that easy and I probably wouldn’t thrive on an easy road anyway. So instead of burrowing deeper inside, I utter a prayer of thanksgiving and plunge into the day, trusting that the God who allows the storms to come is the same God who will shelter me through.

If it were still summer, attacking a new day would be much more painless. But fall has arrived in all its glory. I know I must trust that God knew what He was doing when He designed the four seasons. My time in the garden will now consist of raking leaves instead of watching things grow. It’s a season when living things die and dead things decompose. But in breaking down, dead things release potential for new life. My worm boxes, of all things, have taught me this simple healing lesson.

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This article first appeared on ibelieve.com magazine

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One comment on “Why I Love My Worms
  1. Pingback: Mommy Wake-Up Call | the curious anti-narcissist

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