Compost of the Heart

          Yesterday, something made me take a picture of my compost bowl. The bowl that sits beside the sink and holds the leftovers.
                    The cuttings.
                                   The refuse of our meals. The bowl that often causes my darling husband to roll his eyes, shake his head, wonder. "Exactly what is the purpose? I've never seen you use it..."
     In truth, I have used it. It gets placed in the large-black-roll-y-ball-thingy that he bought for me so that the pile wouldn't be as unsightly. So Joe and I fill it. Roll it around.
                           Let it marinate.
                                      Let it stew, sweat, break-down.
     The purpose is to take what is left and allow it to change into something that can become helpful. Useful. Wonderful rich soil to create this:

     

     And what of us? What of the compost in our lives? What about the times of trial?
               Of tragedy?
                       Of painful, sorrowful, soul-growth events?
    Don't we also use those scraps? Those cuttings? Isn't that just as life-giving as the joyful times? 
     Every moment can be filled with grace if we but let it enter into our soul. For we are fertile soil awaiting the spirit.
                                         The love.
                                                     The joy.
     So yes, that bowl of scraps is simply a physical reminder of what is happening in my soul. My heart. My life. For my God is constantly renewing me with His love (and lately, His patience and understanding). And as I sift through and allow Him to make all things new, I, too, become a new creation. Ready to help my children to be fertile ground as well.
     It takes that compost.
                            Those scraps.
                                 Those cuttings....
      To grow.....