They say everything is bigger in Texas – and I’m convinced that includes the heat. It hits different out here. The kind of heat that wraps around you around the moment you step outside and does not let go. It’s not a gentle warmth – it’s bold, bossy, and downright blistering. But somehow, despite the sweat and sunburn, this is exactly where I want to be: barefoot in the dirt, tending the rows of life we have planted with our own two hands.

Every morning starts with a promise – to water the garden before the sun climbs too high. The hose sprays out in a graceful arch, glittering in the light like it’s putting on show just for me. The cool mist temporarily cuts through the heat, hitting the leaves of the tomato plants and curling vines like a gentle blessing. I talk to the plants or let the plants listen to my playlists while I water them – sometimes whispering encouragement, other times laughing at how the zucchini managed to triple in size overnight.

It’s hot. Let me tell you, it’s hot. The kind of hot where you second-guess wearing mascara, and the back of your shirt looks like you’ve been swimming. But even with the sweat running down my face and the dirt caking my legs, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Because the reward? Oh, it’s glorious.

From the soft yellow squash glowing like sunshine to the deep green zucchini with their dusty coats of soil – each vegetable is a little miracle. I can’t help but feel a surge of pride every time I line them up like soldiers for a harvest photo. They may be covered in specks of dirt, but to me, they are trophies. Proof that something grew from nothing because I showed up daily – even on the sweltering days.

I discovered baby watermelon the other morning, hiding shyly beneath the leaves, dotted with beads of dew like nature’s own jewel. The tomatoes are coming in strong now too – shiny and green for the moment, but full of promise. And those purple blooms sneaking between the rows? A little surprise love note from the earth reminding me that beauty grows in the in-between.

I have learned that in Texas, gardening is an act of grit and grace. You have got to be tough enough to sweat through it but soft enough to celebrate the quiet moments – like when a cowpea finally dries on the vine or a cucumber swells fat and perfect for picking. It’s not always picturesque. My hands are stained. My back is sore. And yet – my heart is full.

This garden, in all its wild and winding glory, has become my sanctuary on the days that I really need to just ‘get away from everyone’. A place where I am able to meet God between rows of squash and find joy tucked beneath the leaves. And though the Texas sun may scorch and test me, I keep showing up – watering, weeding, and whispering life into the soil.

Because something magical happens when you choose to grow – even in the heat.