Finding Stillness in the Backyard

 I’m tucked into a lawn chair beside our little koi pond, the fountain burbling in gentle contrast to a chorus of birds overhead. Six backyard hens dart for cover every time a plane flies overhead , then emerge moments later to peck and scratch beneath the tomato buckets. Their antics make me smile; their simple world reminds me to breathe.

This spring I planted my first “bucket garden”, eighteen 5-gallon pails plus a Berry Barrel with strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries. Honest confession: between Oklahoma’s torrential rains and my own enthusiasm, ChatGPT tells me I may have loved those plants with a bit too much water! Whether the harvest is bumper or bare-bones, the act of tending has already borne fruit in my heart. Contentment looks a lot like dirt streaked hands and chickens roosting in the shade of cucumber vines.

We live smack-dab in the middle of a neighborhood, yet our postage stamp slice of creation feels like holy ground. My daughters call barefoot gardening “grounding,” but I call it grace—the tangible nearness of God in His handiwork. Psalm 46:10 whispers across the breeze: “Be still, and know that I am God.”Stillness doesn’t come naturally to me; even after a wonderful family vacation, I crave the quieter rhythm of home—fermenting sourdough on the counter, hens clucking contentedly, the steady drip of a watering can.

Watching my flock flee from harmless airplanes is a living parable. They scatter at every roar, convinced danger is descending, when in truth it’s only noise. How many times do I do the same? The enemy rattles windows with half-truths and what-ifs, yet Christ has already declared, “My peace I leave with you.” The racket cannot touch the refuge I have in Him.

So I wiggle my toes into the warm grass, inhale the earthy scent of fresh mulch, and thank God for koi ponds, bucket gardens, and chickens that preach sermons without saying a word. The bread dough will need shaping soon, but for now I’ll keep company with the One who waters my soul far better than I water tomatoes.

May your own corner of creation—whether acres or a single patio pot—remind you to be still, breathe deep, and trust the God who turns every patch of earth into a place of peace.