~ime
9e~ins ，A~ain
It may be true that time began in a garden.
But not the ticking， tocking， got-to-get-it-done-no-matter-what kind of time.
Not the stuffed， crammed Daytimer kind of time the sorry-I m-late-I-got-
stuck-on-the-freeway form of measurement.
The time that began m a garden is the kind of time I go to our garden to
find again.
It s time the way God created it: as a servant and not a master.
This kind of time is a container for worthwhile work， a resource for creating
the beautiful and feeding the hungry and growing the soul. It is measured in drift-
mg~t purposeful hours， in day and then night and then day again， in slowly rolling
seasons， each with its special purpose under heaven.
Garden time is time that involves itself in the moment， that passes each
- moment fully alive， that focuses on the soaring stateliness of trees and the minute
~cale of thetiniest blossom and insect. Garden time requires daily attention but does
not require that everything be done in a day，
I go to nay garden to rediscover that kind of time. And I have to take time out
from the other kind of time to discover it.
Why don t you take time out， too?
Come away from your rat race， your conveyor belt， )，our traffic jam， to be
renewed and refreshed in the company of growing things.
It won t take long， but it will feel like a day in the country.
Yott te on garden time now.
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