Growing More Than a Garden
JOURNAL ENTRY #29
SUNDAY, JULY 12, 2026
There are moments in life when someone surprises you — not because they accomplished something extraordinary overnight, but because they quietly refuse to surrender.
Many of you have followed my son Nathaniel’s journey. After surviving septic shock, losing both of his legs below the knee and all fingers on both hands, life became something completely different than either of us ever imagined.
As a mother, I naturally worried about what his future would look like.
Nathaniel had other plans.
Instead of focusing on everything he can no longer do, he’s been spending his time asking himself a different question:
“What can I still do?”
Today he shared with me his plans, and I couldn’t help but smile.
He’s been transforming the small space around the Florida home into a productive garden. Tomatoes, pumpkins, sweet potatoes, grapes, herbs, sunflowers, dragon fruit, bananas, and even an olive tree. He’s researching what grows well, learning what people might enjoy buying, and already thinking several steps ahead toward homemade sauces, pickled vegetables, and preserving his harvest.
He’s building garden beds.
Moving bricks.
Digging in the soil.
Planning aquaponics.
Creating systems that work around the challenges his new body presents.
Most people would see obstacles.
Nathaniel sees possibilities.
Will everything work perfectly?
Probably not.
Gardens rarely do.
But neither does healing.
Healing is learning.
Healing is adapting.
Healing is refusing to believe that one difficult chapter gets to write the rest of your story.
Watching my son rediscover purpose has reminded me that resilience isn’t loud. Sometimes it looks like seed packets spread across a table. Sometimes it looks like dirty hands after a day of moving soil. Sometimes it looks like dreaming about next year’s harvest when this year’s life feels uncertain.
I’m incredibly proud of him.
Not because he’s trying to prove anything to anyone else…
…but because he refuses to let his circumstances convince him that his life has lost its value.
He’s growing far more than vegetables.
He’s growing hope.
And I have a feeling this garden is only the beginning.
‘Til next time…
Finding Beauty in the Everyday.
Lorena
