Something From Nothing
Some weeks ago, I began dreaming and working on our summer vegetable garden. At the end of fall, I had carefully saved seeds, tucking them safely away in a cool place through the winter. A few weeks ago, I pulled them out, measured my soil into egg cartons, and planted the tiny seeds. I've watched them each day, straining to catch the first glimpse of growth. I've watered them diligently. I've moved them from place to place throughout the house so that they have the benefit of the fullest sun throughout the day. I've prayed for the plants that will grow and feed my family when spring turns to summer. I've waited for the miracle that turns nothing into something.
Slowly but surely, those little seeds have grown. At first they were hardly noticeable, bright shoots barely peeking above the soil. Gradually, leaves have begun to unfurl and the tiny shoots have grown into something recognizable. Plants that promise to yield fruit (or vegetables) in the weeks and months to come.
There's something about this process, this miracle of something from nothing, that feeds my soul. I seek it out daily. If not in the garden, I participate in the process through other creative outlets: knitting, sewing, writing, painting, building... I fill my free time with everything creative. Not just because I enjoy it, but for a much deeper reason. When I am creating, I am closest to God. I feel him most, connect with him most, when I am participating in this process of turning nothing into something.
I've often wondered why it means so much to me to have this miracle in my daily life. There is an element of pride in the hard work, of excitement about the process, of satisfaction in the results. All of those are valid, important parts of the creative process. But at a deeper level, I have a need to see this miracle played out over and over in my life.
It's when I read stories like that of the boy and his two fish and five loaves that I begin to realize why it matters so much to me. An enormous need--five thousand hungry people-- and such an inadequate means of meeting it--one small boy and his simple lunch. It's the story of my own life, of my own world. Great need, great aspirations, and yet I lack any means of meeting them. What good are my five loaves and two fish in the face of all the need around me?
And yet.
And yet my God is in the business of turning nothing into something.
I need this miracle-- the miracle of creation, of multiplication, of making something from what is absolutely lacking-- because I need the constant reminders that he can do the same with me. When I am inadequate. When I am too small. Too afraid. Too weak. Too tired. Too sick. Too lacking. He can make something of me, of my mess, of my life. I need to watch it play out again and again in the things that don't matter so much, because they remind my soul that they play out in the things that do matter too.
Oh, how I need the miracle of something from nothing some days.
