**The Unseen Gardener**

The Unseen Gardener

This morning, as I watered my small vegetable patch – a ridiculously ambitious undertaking in this Pretoria heat – I thought of the unseen gardener. My little patch is tucked away at the back of my yard, a far cry from the manicured lawns that seem to dominate Akasia. Nobody admires my struggling tomatoes or my slightly pathetic lettuce. They're not Instagram-worthy, certainly not the kind of thing that would earn me likes or follows.

But here's the thing: I don’t garden for likes. I garden because I find a profound satisfaction in nurturing life, in seeing something grow from nothing. It's a quiet act of creation, a tiny reflection of God's own creative power. And in that quiet tending, I feel a connection to something larger than myself, a deep sense of purpose that transcends the superficial validation of the outside world.

It’s a principle that applies to more than just gardening. There's a temptation in our society, particularly here in Pretoria, to chase external validation. To seek the approval of others, to measure our worth by the number of likes or shares or compliments. We're bombarded with images of perfect lives on social media; curated perfection. And it can leave us feeling inadequate, constantly striving for something just beyond our reach.

But what if we shifted our focus? What if we embraced the unseen garden of our own hearts and souls, tending to those quiet acts of kindness, those moments of selfless service, those struggles against our own self-centredness? What if we recognized that our worth isn't measured by public approval, but by the unseen growth that takes place in the garden of our souls?

Just as my little vegetable patch thrives on the unseen nourishment of water and sunlight, our spiritual lives thrive on our commitment to living a life pleasing to God. The rewards aren't material; they're the quiet joy of integrity, the peace of a clear conscience, the assurance that even in the midst of Pretoria's hustle, we are connected to something beautiful and enduring. That, my friends, is a reward more valuable than any fleeting moment of recognition.

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