Thank you teachers, for being the rain

The job of a gardener, I’ve realized three years into our family’s adventure planting raised beds, is less about tending to the plants as it is tending to the soil.

Is it wet enough? Are there weeds leeching nutrients? Is it too wet? How should I rotate crops? Is it time for compost? Are insects eating the roots? As a gardener, making these decisions is core to the craft.

The plants will grow. The plants were born to grow, that’s their nature. But to thrive they require fertile soil. That’s essential. And as a home gardener, ensuring the soil’s fertility is my responsibility.

Gardening is not just a hobby I love, it’s also one of my favorite metaphors for raising children. The connection is beautifully exemplified by a German word for a group of children learning and growing: kinder garten.

The kids will grow, but they rely on us to provide them with fertile soil.

And so we do our best. We cultivate a nurturing environment, providing them with a warm and cozy bed to sleep in. We diligently weed out negative influences, ensuring their growth is not hindered. Just as we handle delicate plants and nurture the soil, we handle them with gentle care, aware of their tenderness. And of course, we try to root them in a family and community that radiates love onto them as the sun radiates sunshine

If we tend to the soil, the kids will thrive.

Well, almost. The kids will only flourish if we just add one more thing: rain.

Without rain, a garden cannot thrive. While individuals can irrigate a few plants during short periods without rainfall, gardeners like us can’t endure months or even weeks without rain. Especially under the intense conditions of summer heat and sun, our flowers and vegetables struggle to survive without rainfall. The rain is invaluable and irreplaceable.

As the rain comes and goes throughout the spring and summer, it saturates the entire garden bed, drenching the plants and the soil surrounding them. The sheer volume of rainwater is daunting to replicate through irrigation systems; attempting to match the scale of rainwater is financially burdensome. Moreover, rain possesses a gentle touch and a cooling effect. It nourishes the plants more effectively than tap water.

For all these reasons, rain is not something we merely hope for or ask for - rain is something we fervently pray for.

It's incredibly easy to overlook and take for granted the rain. It arrives and departs, quietly watering our garden when we least expect it. Rain can easily blend into the backdrop, becoming an unscheduled occurrence that simply happens as a part of nature's course.

When we harvest cherry tomatoes, basil, or bell peppers, a sense of pride and delight fills us as we revel in the fruits of our labor. The harvest brings immense satisfaction and a deep sense of pride, even if our family’s yield is modest and unassuming.

As we pick our cucumbers, pluck our spinach, or uproot our carrots, it rarely occurs to me to credit the rain. And yet, without the rain, our garden simply could not be.

In the lives of our children and within our communities, teachers serve ASC the rain. And by teachers, I mean a wide range of individuals. I mean the educators in elementary, middle, and high schools. I mean the pee-wee soccer coaches. I mean the Sunday school volunteers. I mean the college professors engaging in discussions on derivatives or the Platonic dialogues during office hours. I mean the early childhood educators who infuse dance parties into lessons on counting to ten and words beginning with the letter "A".

I mean the engineer moms, dads, aunts, and uncles who coach FIRST Robotics, or the recent English grads who dedicate their evenings to tutoring reading and writing. I mean the pastors and community outreach workers showin’ up on the block day in and day out. I mean the individuals running programs about health and nutrition out of their cars. I mean the retired neighbors on their porch who share stories of their world travels and become cherished bonus grandparents. I mean the police officers and accountants who serve as Big Brothers and Big Sisters despite having no obligation to do so.

I mean them all and more. These people, these teachers, are the rain.

They find a way to summon the skies and shower our kids with nourishing, life-giving rain. As a parent and a gardener nurturing the soil in which children are raised, I cannot replicate the rain that teachers provide. Without them, our children simply could not flourish.

Candidly, this is also a personal truth. I have greatly relied on and benefited from numerous teachers throughout my life. It has all come full circle for me as I've embraced the roles of both a parent and a gardener. Witnessing our children learn, grow, and thrive under the guidance of teachers has been a humbling revelation. I've come to realize that without teachers, my own growth and development would not have been possible. Without teachers, I simply would not be.

This time of year is brimming with graduations - whether they're from high schools, colleges, or even from Pre-K like our oldest just graduated from this weekend. Much like the bountiful harvest, it is a time for joyous celebration. Our gardens have yielded fruit, and we should take pride in our dedicated efforts.

But in this post, I also wish to honor all of the different types of teachers out there. They have been the gentle, nurturing rain - saturating the soil and fostering a fertile environment for our children to flourish.

Thank you, teachers, for everything you do and have done - for me, for our three sons, and for all children. We have all yearned for the rain to drench our gardens, and you have made it pour.

Photo by June Admiraal on Unsplash

Creating Unexpected Joy

As 2022 began, I set out on an experiment to create an intentional reflection practice to build courage.

The most important thing I learned was a simple, data-backed conclusion: I only predict what the hardest moment of my day will be about 5% of the time. This is astounding to me. I am far worse at predicting how my own day will turn out than meteorologists are at predicting the weather.

Part of that is because by envisioning the day ahead I am prepared to deal with one situation and find it less hard than it would otherwise have been. But still, almost every day I logged an entry this year, something unpredictable happened.

Any last hope I was clinging to about how much certainty I had in my own life has vanished in a flurry of nervous laughter. But as I struggled this week to understand what this jarring finding meant, I realized that the inverse is also true: just as I cannot predict the hardest part of my day, I cannot predict what good things will happen in the day ahead, either. Just as I am faced with unexpected suffering, I also stumble into unexpected joy.

The real important question then boils down to this: how do I minimize unexpected suffering and increase unexpected joy?

Again, I looked back at the data from my notebook. What were some of the patterns behind what I thought I should do differently during the hardest moments of my days?

Some of the basics were so simple they were almost boring. During the year, the ways I identified to better handle the hardest parts of the day boiled down to these: get enough rest, eat nutritious feed, create time to plan and think, create boundaries (especially with work), resolve conflict with other people calmly and immediately, and perhaps most importantly - assuming positive intent by meeting the person in front of me where they are and remember that we’re both the same human beings.

Doing these basics works to minimize suffering because they lead to better decisions - both in resolving the suffering at hand and in creating fewer problems for our future selves.

Eating well, for example, makes me less groggy in dealing with a difficult child right now and makes me less likely to hear bad news from a cholesterol test I need to take 6 months from now. Creating time to think makes me get my most important chores done faster today and it helps us plan out routine maintenance on our house so we don’t end up with a furnace that fails “suddenly.”

Similarly, these basic practices help to create joy because they create the conditions for intense connection with others - whether other people, ideas, nature, or spiritual truths.

Creating boundaries, for example, helps me prevent conflict with colleagues on a new project and builds momentum for a meaningful working relationship. Resolving conflict with Robyn calmly and immediately builds trust between us and can become a catalyst to deepen our relationship rather than undermine it. And perhaps most powerfully, I’ve found this year that assuming positive intent creates a halo of safe space, and leads to the sort of deep talk and open-hearted compassion that builds deep bonds.

This was even the case with strangers - like the Michigan alum behind us in line at the Phoenix Airport rental car desk last Monday. After he awkwardly passed comment on Robyn nursing while standing in line, we assumed positive intent instead of malice. Turns out he was friendly and caring, and he ended up telling us a great story about catching a Yankees game at Fenway Park with his brothers after taking a trip to Boston on a whim. It was an unexpected delight on an otherwise terrible travel day with long waits, uncomfortable seats, and several bouts of nausea.

Moments of deep connection can happen at almost any time, with almost any person if the right conditions are present. So how do we do these basics, and create the conditions for unexpected joy to emerge?

All of these basics, it seems, start with a calm and peaceful mind.

It’s just not possible to meet someone where they are without a calm and peaceful mind. It’s just not possible to think and plan without a calm and peaceful mind. It’s just not possible to resolve conflict effectively without a calm and peaceful mind. It’s not even possible to eat or sleep properly - among the most basic human functions - without a calm and peaceful mind.

It seems as if all roads to unexpected joy run through having a calm and peaceful mind. Cultivating a calm and peaceful mind through meditation, deep breathing, gratitude, and prayer, therefore, is the practice I resolve to build this year.

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Items needed: A quiet place, about 15 minutes, Mala (Rosary)

Photo Credit: Unsplash @towfiqu999999

Morning practice: Choose one word or short phrase that represents the day’s intention, this is the day’s mantra. Close eyes and enter a comfortable seated position. Take a deep inhale. Upon exhale think or repeat the mantra. Advance one bead in the rosary and repeat until one cycle of the rosary is complete.

Evening Practice: Complete day’s reflection activities. Close eyes and enter a comfortable seated position. Start with articulating gratitudes, advance one bead in the rosary for each gratitude expressed. Try to repeat for half the rosary.

Finish with prayer or some other expression of care and concern for others. Advance one bead for each prayer / thought for others expressed. Attempt to complete rosary with combined expressions of gratitudes and prayers - if beads remain, do one deep breath for each that remains until rosary complete.