I had two completely opposite experiences at the garden this morning.
I knew going into it that today would be a battle of endurance and perseverance but apparently my game face isn't as scary as the gigantic weeds choking out our plants. Only after 20 minutes or so, I looked at Tim, his face red with sweat trickling over his eye behind his glasses, and thought if we just give up and go home, we can drink ice cold water and put our feet up. The weeds were endless and our only goal today was to clear a small area around each plant so that they wouldn't be so suffocated by the increasingly strong grasses. But as Tim was wilting away across from me and each time I dug my little hand fork into the ground my left bicep was screaming out, "you haven't lifted your arm this many times since 9th grade weightlifting with the girls volleyball team," I began to doubt our ability to make an impact.
In this moment of weakness, I considered abandoning the garden.
And then I saw something that gave me hope.
We had not failed the garden yet, and it had not failed us. There, in the midst of the weeds, was a teensy watermelon. It was barely bigger than my thumb, but it was there, and it was hanging on. It was the little watermelon that could, and if it could, we could too.