Lessons From the Garden

Our garden has been a major time sponge as of late.

Yes, there has been some extra travel from family circumstances and some volunteer obligations. But what has occupied a large portion of my free time has been taming the jungle that is our backyard.

That’s given me lots of time to mull over the lessons my garden has given me.

Here’s a few of them.

If you expect any fruit(or vegetables), you have to plant some seeds.

I didn’t plant this garden to save money. I dare say the cost of seeds, water, a new sprinkler, and garbage bags for the weeds will make these some expensive veggies. That’s not even counting the cost of my time to tend the garden.

But, have you ever had fresh sweet corn straight off the stalk? Nothing compares – except maybe that crisp snap of just picked green beans, or that tantalizing aroma when you slice a cucumber just in from the garden.

I’m hopeful for these sensations come harvest time.

I’ve also lived long enough to see some of the kids I’ve taught over the years in children’s church and youth groups grow up to be joyful, thoughtful, caring adults. While I can’t claim all the credit for that, I can tell that some of the seeds I planted in their lives years ago have taken hold and borne fruit .

Sowing seeds costs, but it is so very worth it!

Soil prep is important.

The ground in our backyard is mostly clay. Even the shallow roots of grass have a hard time taking hold and staying put.

When I first planned a vegetable garden, I knew I had my work cut out for me. I rented a tiller. Then mixed in many bags of top-soil. That gave the veggies the nutrients they need and provided room for roots. How much room remains to be seen when I harvest the carrots.

There’s an old saying for those who want to preach or teach – “They won’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.”

Many people today have a warped view of the Gospel as just an old religion full of rules. Sometimes it takes time and consistent care to bring people to the point where they’ll even listen.

Every person is different and the real work is done by the Holy Spirit.

But God uses those times when you simply listen to people, help them, or just have fun with them.

When they see the reality of the Gospel at work in your life, they’ll be more receptive to it.

I also found that –

Weeds are a pain, but you gotta take care of them.

We’ve had a very wet Spring and Summer this year. When I was out of town for a while in late Spring, I came home to grass over a foot high and weeds taller than me. Our flower beds and xeriscaped area were completely overrun with weeds and the vegetable garden wasn’t far behind. This past two weeks, I’ve been working constantly and am down to spreading the last few bags of mulch. Thankfully, I’ve had some help.

The same is true for our lives.

The sins and distractions that keep us from being fruitful constantly crop up.

We need to accept the help of friends and God to get it clear.

Jesus comes along and does the hard work but we need to be willing to let him.

The work doesn’t end there. The weeds will keep coming back and I’ll keep pulling them, though it will be much easier now that the bulk of them are gone.

Plants need water – water comes from storms.

In Colorado, we usually have to water a lot. We’ve been blessed with a lot of wet weather lately so I’ve saved a ton on our water bill. Unfortunately, I’ve also had to fight to keep our basement dry. Our cars and trash cans bear the scars of hail.

One storm a couple years ago brought so much damage we had to replace our roof.

But we ended up with a much stronger roof.

To grow spiritually, sometimes we have to apply water ourselves with times of study and prayer.

Other times growth is thrust upon us with the storms of life.

Oddly, the single event that brought the most growth in my life was divorce. The emotional pain was horrendous but it opened my eyes to areas where I needed to change and caused me to seek a much closer relationship with God.

I never recommend divorce or any other tragedy, but I strongly recommend that we use those times to grow.

Not everything is a metaphor.

The largest plants in our garden are the corn stalks. Given their size, I’m not as concerned about the small weeds around them.

I thought about that in terms of sin and the predominant ministry in my life – student ministry.

The metaphor doesn’t work.

Even small sins can have serious consequences when you are a leader of young people. It’s critical that I keep a tight lid on even small sins. I need to keep my mind pure so even the smallest sins don’t take root in my life.

If you’re human (and I hope you are), you know that’s not easy. I’m far from perfect and have the same struggles as anyone else.

But one small sin, leading to another could wipe out all the work of ministry I’ve ever done.

 

My gardening thoughts covered many other topics. Maybe I’ll post some of those at harvest time. Until then, Keep planting seeds, watering, and pulling weeds.

Now I gotta go.

I see another weed popping up.

The View From Here

My flight back from North Carolina made a detour. Despite swinging clear down to New Orleans, we still encountered turbulence from the large thunderstorms in our path.

Isn’t that just like life.

I arrived home to a misfiring minivan, a broken toilet, weeds threatening the garden, foot high grass in the backyard (it rained so much there was no time to mow), a leaky basement, a failing shower head, and a wife leaving me (just for the week to help her parents. Calm down.)

We managed to get through the week and got all the repairs taken care of but we are still in an emotional fog as my mother-in-law has taken a turn for the worse. She will likely take possession of her heavenly body this week.

This is the view from the middle of the storm.

Emotional and physical exhaustion threaten to rule.

Other than my daily devotional, I’ve only had one chance to sit down and write. The words wouldn’t come.

Even as the storms rage, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there will be sunlight on the other side.

“Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.”

Psalms 23:4 NLT

My wife and I will rest in God’s strength and guidance as the storm passes.

When we reach the other side, I will update you on my writing journey and the next exciting steps.

Until then, if you are in the middle of life’s storms,

seek the strength and shelter of the one who can calm storms with a word.

When the storm passes, rejoice in the clear new day.

Southern Magic

Summertime view over Spring Valley Virginia

It would start with a cool breeze.

Okay, not exactly cool but less blazing.

Dark clouds would roll in over the hills.

I would take my place on the porch swing.

 

Thunderstorms in Spring Valley, Virginia were a sight to see. I didn’t want to miss a strike.

Our front porch, near the top of a hill, gave a commanding view.

I could see each strike in our little valley.

It fascinated me.

I’d see a flash and count until the thunder clap.

15 seconds, it was 3 miles out.

5 seconds, it was a mile out.

The rain was most intense when the lightning got closer.

The wind got gusty.

When the porch started getting soaked, I knew it was time to run inside and close windows.

 

One particularly gusty storm has ingrained itself into my brain.

I closed the windows and looked out through a front window over the porch.

The rain was torrential so there wasn’t much to see.

Just the frequent flashes and rapidly shrinking delay ‘til the thunder.

I stood next to a lamp that was turned on against the gloom of the dark clouds.

Boom!

There was no delay.

The lamp flashed brightly and went dark.

Boom!

Mere seconds later, lightning struck again.

I was still looking at the lamp. It lit up a bright blue for a second. Then it was dark.

 

The storm moved on and I reset the breaker and replaced that light bulb.

Nothing else was damaged since I had unplugged the TV and stereo (no other electronics back then in the dark ages).

The afternoon turned to a pleasant cool evening.

It was humid but not hot anymore.

The countryside had that

magical southern post-storm aroma.

 

I am tempted to draw a life lesson for you from that storm.

Instead, I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

Or you can just bask in that post-storm fragrance of damp grass, cracked oak and apple leaves, and soaked porch wood and watch the fireflies come out.

 

Those of you in the South know what I’m talking about.

If you’ve never experienced it, you need to take a summertime trip to somewhere in the rural south.

Then you’ll know what I mean by magical.

Close Encounter of the High Voltage Kind

Southwest Virginia in the early ‘80s

 

It was just beginning to sprinkle as we started up the trail. Thinking the rain would cool off our hike on that hot August day, we happily hiked on,

blissfully ignorant

of what lay ahead.

I was one of thirty some 17-year-olds spending a week at Lynchburg College competing for scholarships. After a busy day of classes, this hike at Sharp Top on the Blue Ridge Parkway was just the diversion we needed.

Our steep mile and a half hike did indeed cool off. The sprinkles turned to rain.

We quickened our pace when we heard distant lightning. Someone said something about a cabin at the top.

The true downpour started as we approached the cabin. We all crammed into the small stone building. No one was brave or foolish enough to go out to the overlook just beyond the cabin.

We were young. We didn’t worry.

Besides, we knew there was a shuttle that would take us back down the mountain. We’d hike the quarter mile to the shuttle stop as soon as the lightning let up.

It didn’t let up.

If anything, it increased.

And the last shuttle of the day would be there soon.

Half of the people in the cabin decided they would stay put where it was safe.

I was not one of those people.

A dozen or so of us rushed out through the deluge.

I couldn’t see a thing. I just followed the person ahead of me. Lightning crashed every couple of seconds all around. I got soaked to the bone.

After a couple of minutes that seemed like a couple of hours, we made it to the bus shelter. I plopped my waterlogged self down on the bench on the far side of the shelter, glad to be safe.

Then it hit me.

Technically, it hit the shelter and the electricity ran through those of us on that far side of the bus shelter.

It was lightning.

Oh, and deafening thunder.

It was literally a pain in the rear. Very painful, in fact.

When it happened, a girl seated on the other side started screaming hysterically. Once she calmed, she explained that she saw us all light up and thought we would die.

The only casualty that I know of was my digital watch, which started flying forward in time. We were sore and soaked and had a new respect for thunderstorms.

As for those stayed in the cabin, the college had to send out another bus. They didn’t return until later in the evening.

Whether we played it safe or braved the storm, we each came home with quite the story to tell.

This story has found it’s way into many children’s and youth lessons. It even into Wil Clarey, The Impossible Summer (as told to Wil by his grandpa). My lessons and my books tend to be filled with stories like these. They tend to grab attention and illustrate a number of points.

Do you have stories?

Let ‘em out!

Write them and share them. If possible, teach with them.

Don’t let them fade in your memory.

Oh yeah, and don’t go outside in thunderstorms!