Yesterday, I worked in my yard. I pulled weeds. I gathered branches and sticks knocked down and strewn across my yard by recent storms. I tugged and pulled and cut and clawed at a stubborn honeysuckle bush that I still can’t bear to dig up, even though it has long overstayed its welcome.

As the sweat poured down my chest and my muscles began to tire, tears began to stream down my face. With each yank of the bramble, they flowed nearly in rhythm with the beat of cicadas and current of the lake tide at the edge of my blurry view. And I cried.

I cried for the years already gone by, mistakes I have made, loves I have lost. From my eyes came the sadness of unappreciated moments with my children while they were young, and from the heaves of my chest came the regrets of love left unspoken and harsh words regretted.

The birds chirped on, and the hot breeze continued to blow, and years of dead leaves and underbrush of honeysuckle slowly began to disappear. The ground below, now bare and scarred, became alive with ants and earthworms considering their opportunities.

My tears came more slowly. My breath came more easily. I rose from the dirt, my knees crusted with mud and my gloves torn and stained, and scanned the hillside, now sculptured and pruned and intentional.

This is a new house, a new home, a new life, a new chance.

Yesterday, I worked in my yard.

About the Author | Amanda Christmann

Amanda is editor for Women For One, and is also a human rights advocate and founder of Compassionate Journeys, a volunteer organization spreading awareness and creating economic, educational, and quality of life opportunities for trafficked children in Ghana, West Africa. She is an avid cyclist, a world traveler, and is mom to three boys, two dogs, and two sassy cats.

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4 comments to "Work"

  • Beautiful. This touched me deeply, thank you. Welcome to your new home, new life, and new changes. It is clear the earth is rising up to meet you there.

  • Toni Baker

    Amanda has way with words that allows you to see the sunshine throughout ones journey in this crazy thing we call “life”…
    She writes from her knowledge, she writes from her own experiences, she writes through her tears, she writes through her laughter and she helps us all heal through her words. What an amazing gift she was given and what an amazing gift she shares.

  • Your words are like poetry from the soul! Your words put me there, in that garden, watching as you tugged at the roots of your heart. The tears felt as though they were flowing to cleanse your future. Thank you for giving us such a personal and powerful glimpse into your life!

  • Lucy Brummett

    I could relate as a mother. I loved it. Those moments turn into years and before you know it they are gone. However, the good memories outweigh the ones that we regret;)