One day last week as the boys were enjoying the sunshine I ran into the house to send a few emails.  My four year old obviously didn't have a sense of where I had gone because when he found a "private spot" in the garden to relieve himself he pulled his pants down right outside my office window.  His little butt checks were only a few feet away.  Only a pane of glass and a rose bush separated us.  So precious!  

I love our garden and the freedom the boys enjoy on our couple of acres here, but more often than not when I refer to gardening these days I'm not talking about Roses, Plum Trees, or Morning Glory. Boys hearts are what I tend to each and every day!

I've written numerous posts on this blog in which I've referred to child rearing as working a garden. Even last week I ended one such post with the analogy of getting dirty in the soil of their little hearts. 

In the comment section below said post, one reader left this marvelous quote from Charlotte Mason's "Laying Down the Rails".

"For let this be borne in mind, whatever ugly quality disfigures the child, he is but as a garden overgrown with weeds: the more prolific the weeds, the more fertile the soil: he has within him every possibility of beauty of life and character. Get rid of the weeds and foster the flowers."

"The more prolific the weeds, the more fertile the soil..."  Sigh...  Simply wonderful.

Our children's hearts are fertile ground in which we lovingly plant seeds of patience and kindness, sacrifice and gentleness.  As the mother of three boys (8, 7, and 4) I do considerably more planting than reaping these days.  But I passionately believe that our job, especially when they are young, is not to concern ourselves so much about the harvest, but the planting.  Do you agree?

Heartache comes I find when I switch my focus from the condition of the soil to the long awaited harvest in my children's lives.  But when my attention each day is fixed on the opportunities to plant and water and weed... I live with gratitude. Grateful for each opportunity to get messy again.  

Messy, messy muddied hands.