I pray for a sign from my Higher Power each day. May I hear and heed your calling for me, I say. And sure enough, it comes. Every day, in some way.
Yesterday was at my Sharing Garden at a community garden for refugees-of-war in the most diverse square mile in the USA. This sign was not there a week ago. I don’t know who put it there. It is right in front of the row where my garden is. Uganda was where I was scheduled to serve. Where I was packed and ready to go when the world stopped spinning.
Boys who are refugees from Africa were riding around on bikes and playing with the hose while I was pulling off dead kale leaves and wrapping little bean tendrils around bamboo poles. One told me he loved my garden and I asked if he would water it (pro tip: people of all ages love to water — see a photo of my friend Carolyn from last week*).
He had been spraying his friends. As I was leaving on my bike, I asked if he would spray me, too (the heat and humidity was becoming oppressive). He did, we all laughed, and I rode on, carrying this experience in my heart along with the thousands of others that have happened this past year. Feeling welcome, like this sign says:
I had not intended to start this garden last August. I had simply volunteered for an hour or two when my Peace Corps service to Uganda (original departure date June 4, 2020) was delayed yet again and I ended up clearing a whole hunk of land and never leaving. I go every week. A lot has happened.
And now, here I am again, at another crossroads in my life. And so, the prayer. The sign. The boys with the bikes and hose.
I’m not sure what’s next. But, as always, I trust the journey.
*Carolyn watering the Sharing Garden after riding with me from Decatur to Clarkston, Georgia, USA (see my PeopleForBikes bike tours #7 and 8 here for more about Traveling at the Speed of Bike in those two cities)
UPDATE: Stay tuned — someone very interesting has reached out to me and there’s a little bit of a big idea brewing . . .