Every year about this time, one can hear a murmur across our neighborhood that is almost like a religious chant: "This year I will plant a beautiful garden. This year I will grow a beautiful garden. This year I will harvest a beautiful garden."

From the time of my first pitiful garden, I have hearkened to this yearly garden mantra. And each year despite my dismal failures of the previous year, I determine once again, "This year my garden will produce ... something."

But every year it is the same. The harvest from my garden is at best sporadic. I have a few peas by early July — the sun scorches the rest. We harvest green tomatoes in September, but by then the quail have helped themselves to everything else remotely green. And I rely on charitable or desperate neighbors for my zucchini supply.

It occurred to me that many aspects of life are like my attempts at gardening. Each year I hear myself say, "This year I will get my year's supply of food storage. This year we will have family scripture study and more meaningful family home evenings. This year I will exercise three times a week. This year I will organize my home. This year I will attend the temple regularly. This year we will be to church on time with everyone wearing appropriate footwear."

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