Though it wasn’t intended as such, today’s post makes a good companion piece to yesterday’s post in the “Questions Jesus Asked” series about worry.
As spring slides on into summer here in the holler, we find ourselves practically buried in green. The weight of the verdancy around us is sometimes so heavy enough you can feel it. The recent profusion of spring flowers in all their variegated colors is rapidly being overcome by a festival of green… more shades, tones, and varieties of green than one would have thought imaginable.
And, of course, springtime in the country means “a time to plant.” We have worked really hard and came into the last week happy with how well we progressed on getting our gardens in (one up top, one down below) given our absence during the month of April.
It took a solid week of work getting all the soil prepared and all the seeds into the ground. We had no sooner gotten everything planted, praying over the little plots that God would bless and multiply our efforts, than we were hit with a massive weekend rainfall…
The rains came down and the floods came up…
We’ve reflected in dozens of different ways about how water brings life… In many ways it’s a symbol of life itself – and Jesus talks about the divine Spirit in us being a spring of living water, flowing out from within us.
However, it’s worth pointing out that water can often bring a whole lot of crud into our lives as well. The crud can suffocate us… or it can nurture growth.
We knew we needed water… we prayed for it… But didn’t really want or expect THAT much of it. Or to see it delivered in such a violent, possibly destructive, manner.
How much of this deluge actually got down into the sandy soil and accomplished what we thought we were praying for – watering the seeds? How much of the water rushed in and over the ground and actually dug up the seeds, taking them God-knows-where? These carrot seeds are so tiny you can hardly see them… and they only go in a quarter-inch below the surface. What are the chances that they manage to continue their peaceful slumber under a finger’s breadth of sand while tons of roiling water surges directly over them?
As the floodwaters tumbled over the dam, they brought tons of sandy silt from upstream – and began to deposit upon everything (our little garden included). As the deluge began to recede, it left a smooth, hard-packed pavement of sorts right where our meticulously wrought furrows had one stood. Will anything actually make it?
We know the one who sends the rain, and it is the same one who has placed us here. We know him.
The water flows on through – God’s love pours into our lives… at times the details seem to suffocate or smother, at times we just enjoy the freshness. Mainly, we tend the growth of the good seed implanted within us. And watch the seasons.
So we will wait for a week, maybe two, and see what sprouts in our garden. Maybe this will actually, somehow, make it more productive. Maybe it won’t. But we know we will continue to learn from what we observe. And that we will thank the Eternal for divine grace and bounty.
We really do have all we need to do all we need to do.
PS: I just got back from looking at the Mill House garden. There is still hope. At least for onions, beans and beets…. We still don’t know about the carrots