Compost For the Garden: Garden Shed Edition
from @frommarwool on Unsplash
We are entering into a season where we begin to get our compost ready and put it into the soil. Compost enriches the soil, preparing it for new life, whether that means fruits and vegetables, flowers and greenery, or simply strengthening the ground against erosion. Beyond its practical benefits, composting is also a reminder: even waste can be repurposed. Even what seems like decay can be the foundation for something new.
If I pull that metaphor into my own life, this season feels like it has a whole lot of sh** that needs to be composted. Scraps of bad theology that keep resurfacing, the relentless cycle of hate in the world, financial strains, loss of security, illness, and death—it’s a lot. Some days, the soil I’m planted in feels depleted, missing nutrients, even at risk of eroding altogether.
But that’s not the whole picture. My tulips are peeking through the soil, resilient against the last stubborn waves of snow and rain. The days are stretching longer, holding more light. People are showing up, building communities in ways that remind me of the beauty in the world. I’m certain you could name your own signs of both struggle and renewal—what feels closer to death and what is leaning toward life.
Over the last decade, I’ve gathered small practices—things I can turn to when I need a little something, and things I can offer to others when they do. In prison, I call them tools for the toolbox. Here, I’ll call them tools for the garden shed. These tools don’t fix everything, but they make the work lighter. They help with tending, with turning over the soil, with making space for growth. They help with the sh**. And since gardening is meant to be shared—knowledge, insights, seeds, tools, abundance, even drought—I want to share one of my go-to tools with you. If it’s useful, take it. If not, set it back where you found it.
Dump and Pump
Step One: Dump
I do a brain dump. Everything swirling in my mind—ideas, to-dos, fears, looping thoughts—goes onto the page. I don’t organize or edit. I just let it exist outside of me.
Step Two: Notice
I shift my attention to my body. Where was I holding all of that? What sensations are present? I scan, acknowledge, and simply notice. Some days, this takes a minute; other days, longer.
Step Three: Pump
To close, I give myself what I need to hear - I pump myself up. Out loud. At least five times. Here are a few of my recent ones:
“You are good. Good enough. And you have done enough.”
“Thank you for breathing. Thank you for feeling. Thank you for being. Enough. Enough. Enough.”
“You are lovely. You are loved. You are loving. You are love.”
“I can hope. I will hope.”
“I will choose abundance.”
“You’re simply the best. Better than all the rest. Better than anyone. Anyone I’ve ever met.” ;)
So, here’s to composting what no longer serves us. To tending the soil, even when it’s hard. And to hoping that something beautiful is on its way.
♥️ Lisa