Today, on Lammas, I think about the harvest in my life. What is ripe and ready to pluck from the vine? What has steadfastly and efficiently used its resources to grow?
I'm having trouble seeing these things. Recent days have been difficult, with my wife in near constant pain for the last week. Running the pain gauntlet with her, even as a passive witness, wears me down. It seems ridiculous to be exhausted by her experience, since I'm not the one living through the pain and its fog of medication. Yet here I am coming up empty when I ponder what harvest to honor in my life.
I suppose there is the fact that I have been good to my body recently, feeding it whole foods and consistently exercising. This is in stark contrast to late May and June, when I was back on the sugar train and drinking too much alcohol. Getting back off processed sugar and focusing on goodness for my body has been one way I've grown this season.
However, the emotional harvest I would expect to experience as a result of my physical wellness has yet to materialize. If anything, I'm less present and self-aware than when I was sugared up and drinking regularly. Apparently I am like a transitional farm, slowly weaning itself from the toxins it used to apply.
My emotional health has not flourished like my physical health has, making me feel stunted rather than vibrant and growing. It's hard to find evidence of the harvest in a landscape of misshapen plants.
Yet, I am aware there is a rich harvest around me. I'm not blind to the beauty and bounty surrounding me; I am aware and grateful for it. I am merely waiting to see this mirrored in me.
I suppose the thing about growth is that it comes in stages and isn't always recognizable. There's also the potential that the process of growth itself is its own harvest. Wherever I happen to be right now in the process, I honor it.
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