Freeze Warning

It was cold last week. It had been cold for a few days, and then the forecaster sent out the alarm. Freeze warning! The newscasters excitedly warn us, “Cover your plants!” In case I haven’t been paying attention, my sister called to make sure I knew. Several friends mention the freeze warning and ask if I’m worried.

Sweet peas, sugar snaps, snow peas; they do well in cool weather. It’s hot weather they don’t like. That’s why gardeners plant them in February and March. Same with most lettuces, although I don’t grow these anymore. I am pretty sure my growing plants can withstand the temperatures dropping below 32; pretty sure.

So I heed the warnings and cover the plants. Even though the forecasters often get it wrong. Even though the sweet peas should withstand the cold.

Covering the plants carries its own risks and takes effort. I use a “floating” cover, of which I have a limited supply, because it allows for more airflow than old sheets, of which I have plenty. It’s also lighter, so less likely to damage the plants, but more likely to blow away if not secured. If I use it all now, I won’t have any left for the tomatoes and cucumbers should we get a frost in May. I will have to get more or resort to sheets. If we get a frost in May.

It’s difficult to know just what the best course of action is.

We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine. Ephesians 4:14

I have had gardens for over 30 years, and I still don’t know if I am being fearful or prudent.

Fear seems to be the currency of the day. The news seems to peddle it as arduously as any snake oil salesman. The sky is falling!! Russia, China, the economy, school shootings, domestic terrorists, foreign terrorists, plagues, cyber and biological warfare; sometimes I wonder if I should leave the house!

And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars; see that you are not alarmed; for this must take place, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places: all this is but the beginnings of the birth-pangs. Matthew 24:6-8

So I will not be alarmed, but I will be prudent; I will take precautions; I will cover my plants.

Because plants are living things, and God has entrusted their care to us. These particular plants are my responsibility. I want to be a good steward; I want these plants in my care to thrive.

Even if I think they may be fine without my help, why take that chance? Why not make their lives a little easier for the next few days? Why not give them the equivalent of a blanket or a hug?

A few weeks ago week, a friend of mine had a medical scare. Another friend was right there with her, following her home, calling the ambulance, making sure she was okay, and bringing her home. Perhaps she would have been fine without help; perhaps she could have gotten herself to the hospital and home, but I am so glad that our friend was there to help her through the scary forecast.

And aren’t we all called to do that for each other?

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. John 13:35

Yes, it took some effort to cover my sweet peas for the next few days. Yes, I will need to replenish my supply of cover cloth. But I am not panicked about the potential of freezing temperatures. I trust I am listening to the warnings and acting with my plants’ best interest in mind.

I hope I can be that caring for all of God’s creation, even, perhaps, you. Do you need a blanket? Or a hug? Do you know someone who does?

Betsy

The Seed and the Psalm

The little sweet pea seeds are in the ground. I must let them sit in the dirt; I must wait on the weather and God to transform them. There is little I can do to speed up the process or even check on it. This transformation from seed to sprout is something that must go on inside the seed as it sits alone in the dark soil.

I have felt like that little seed before. Covered with dirt; alone in the dark.

Even when there are those who care for me and make sure I have sunlight and water, I was not sure that I would ever become more than the lifeless shell I was at that moment.

I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with weeping. Psalm 6:6

In grief counseling, my pastor had me write a psalm. I found it the other day, folded and hidden away in my Bible. The paper was still crisp and clean, untouched and avoided. Perhaps the pain expressed in it needed time, just as my sweet pea seeds do.

Even as I read the words now, the back of my throat constricts and the tears form. How can this still hurt so much?

There is hope hidden in the pain; a willingness to let God lead me out of the darkness. There is faith that a plant will grow, but that space is dark and lonely.

I thought I would share it with you, maybe expose this dark space to a little light.

Betsy’s Psalm of Lament (1/25/20)

You are with me, Lord, but this is hard.

It hurts my heart, my soul, my body.

It challenges who I am.

You must have some plan, some good in mind,

but how will you bring Joy out of this?!

How long will this hurt? How long before I feel joy? Or Love?

How long before “normal” returns to me?

It all feels so wrong without him.

It is tempting to just give up, give in;

to shut the door, lock myself in and die.

But I will trust in You, Lord.

I will turn my face to You

and see Your presence all around me.

I will open the door and go outside this painful space.

You have surrounded me with friends.

I will let them hold me, and I will sing Your praise.

We are so uncomfortable around grief, around pain. If expressed too openly, we doubt its authenticity. We fear doing or saying the wrong thing, adding insult to injury. We don’t have the words to express grief or comfort the grieving. Odd, really, since we have all experienced loss since childhood. How has the loss of a toy, a pet, a grandparent, not trained us for losing a dream, a parent or a spouse? Why do I find my own pain so difficult to expose? Is not grief as common as seeds in the ground?

I will admit fear in even sharing this with you. This is my space; I am not sure I want you in it. I fear you may take this a cry for help, but it is not. This is simply an admission that I do cry, as do most of you.

Very slowly, God has lifted me from that dark space. God has surrounded me with the warmth of friends, the light of His Word, and the life giving water of prayer. The seed of grief did crack open, allowing a tender sprout to reach for the sun, reach for the Son.

Amazing, really.

A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. Ezekiel 36:26

I go out to the garden every day in anticipation of sweet pea sprouts pushing through the ground. I start every morning in prayer with God, in anticipation of what He is growing in me. And I will sing God’s praise.

Betsy

Thirsty?

As soon as those seeds go in the ground, they need water. Every day. This is not some suggestion for a healthier plant; this is the difference between life and death for your plant. Water does not provide an additional benefit for your growing plant – water is essential.

Without water, that dried up seed remains a dried up seed. Without water, the flower inside that tiny seed will never burst from its shell and reach for the sun. Without water, that seed never becomes a plant, never grows, and never bears fruit.

Plants know they need water. They send roots deep into the ground to search for it. The trees near my creek send their roots toward the water there, breaking through the banks to find this precious resource.

Sometimes, it rains. Water comes from the heavens to nourish and transform my plants. Especially in the Spring, we can expect rain on a fairly regular basis. It’s as if God knew that as all these deceptively dead plants came to life, they would need water to enable the transformation.

But I don’t depend on rain to water my garden as it grows. I am grateful when it rains; I am grateful when the watering of my garden happens naturally, spontaneously, without effort on my part. But on those days when the rain doesn’t come, I get out the hose.

I know that as the plants grow, the need for water increases. Daily, I must get out the hose and water my garden. Because water is mandatory if I want my garden to survive, if I want my garden to thrive, if I want my garden to produce.

Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. Luke 18:1

Prayer is like water to those who want to grow in their spiritual faith. Prayer is not some suggestion for a healthier faith – it is essential.

Without prayer, your dried up spirit remains dried up. Without prayer, the flower inside your soul will never burst from its shell and reach for the sun. Without prayer, that seed of faith will never become a plant, never grow, and never bear fruit.

We sense we need prayer. We want to break through the barriers around us and reach for that connection, that communion with God. Our soul seems to shrivel without it.

But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who is in secret will reward you. Matthew 6:6

Sometimes prayer seems to leap spontaneously from our hearts. Often these are prayers of praise and thanks; sometimes these are prayers of anguish and distress; many times they are prayers of concern and fear. I am always grateful when prayer happens spontaneously, without effort on my part. But on those days when the prayers don’t come of their own, I get on my knees.

I know that as my faith grows, my need for prayer increases. Daily I must set aside time to pray, to commune with God, to bring Him all my concerns, and listen to all He has to tell me.

Because prayer is mandatory if I want my faith to survive, if I want my faith to thrive, if I want my faith to produce.

Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with thanksgiving. Colossians 4:2

As I water my new little plants, I can sense their roots growing deeper, anchoring them in place. I see the young sprouts bursting from the seeds, breaking through the hard shell and heavy ground. This is joy; this is hope.

I will remember to water today; my soul is thirsty.

Betsy

Dig deeper on prayer: Matthew 6: 5-14, Matthew 7:7-11, Matthew 11:25-27, Matthew 26:36-46, Mark 1:35, Ephesians 6:18, I Thessalonians 5:17, Philippians 4:6, Hebrews 4:16

This little Seed

Seeds so tiny they look like dirt in my hand. My aging eyes can barely separate them from each other. The package says these could generate 150 3-foot plants. Hmm. My cynical side finds that difficult to believe.

I am trying something new this year. The flower that these seeds grow supposedly repels chipmunks, squirrels and deer. I plan to plant them among the tomatoes in late April. We shall see.

Why do I tamp down my expectations like this? Has God not shown us over thousands of years that He will turn these tiny specks into plants? Has He not shown others just how big the plants these seeds contain can become? I have instructions, directions, testimonies from others; why do I doubt? One thing is for sure: If I don’t plant them, they will remain only seeds.

To look at these little black specks and see a 3-foot plant with white petals and a red center; is that not faith?

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1

Every tree in my yard started as a seed. Every tree in your yard started as a seed. A seed which looked absolutely nothing like the tree it became. A forest is like a testimony to God’s ability to transform something seemingly dead into something vibrantly alive.

These miniscule seeds in the palm of my hand hold the promise of transforming my garden. Amazing, really. And so common. You can find these packets of hope in every hardware store and garden center in the world. I bought mine from a catalogue with about 1000 varieties of seeds promising an unimaginable harvest.

It’s exciting. These little seeds, these embodiments of hope, energize me at some deep level.

And there’s the sweet pea seeds. I plant them directly into the garden. These seeds look like dried up sweet peas. I’m pretty sure that’s what they are. Fruit from last year’s garden that now appears dead, dried up, lifeless, worthless. But looks can be deceiving.

That dead looking, dried up sweetpea is precious to me. That seed holds the promise of delicious fruit. It doesn’t always work out that way, but while you may see a dried up seed, I see possibility.

The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart. I Samuel 16:7b

I have felt like these seeds; tiny, insignificant, useless, past my prime. My cynical nature doubts there is much that can come from me; my fears and doubts tamp down my expectations. But I must fight these fears.

God creates form from nothing (Gen. 1), brings dead bones to life (Ezek. 37), plants an imperishable seed within us (I Peter 1), and promises resurrection (I Cor. 15). Surely He can transform me into a beautiful flower and a fruit bearing garden.

So I plant these seeds. I water them, tend to them, protect them, and support them. I trust God will transform them. He has been faithful in the past, transforming millions of seeds into flowers, plants, and trees. I have faith that He can and will transform these seeds, and me, as well.

Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is. I John 3:2

What hope these little seeds carry!

What a blessing that God gave us this every-day, common reminder of His transformative powers. How can I doubt when all around me God is proving His amazing power and gracious love?

It may look like a little seed, but it is so much more.

He said therefore, “What is the kingdom of God like? And to what shall I compare it? It is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches. Luke 13:18-19

Betsy

More than Clover

The air is icy; it nips at my skin. The overhead clouds are keeping the moisture close by. It was warm last week, and the clover has grown, excited by the prospect of spring. But today it still feels like winter.

The calendar tells me it is time to till the garden.

The tiller shakes in my hands when I start it. I grip it tightly to maintain control and keep it running; and I stare at the hard ground.

Does the ground welcome this? Does this patch of yard sense that I have chosen it for a greater purpose, for growing more than clover?

The rest of the yard, most of the yard, grows clover. This patch of ground is for growing fruit.

Since they don’t do well in hot weather, the sweet peas must be ready to produce their fruit in May. So the seeds need to be sown soon, which means now is the time to till the garden.

The tiller blade cuts into the ground. As the blades rotate, the sharp blades rip out the clover roots and expose dark dirt. I can smell the nutrient rich soil and see the earthworms running for cover. It is a violent act.

But what a promise it holds! A fresh start, a new beginning, out with the old and in with the new. It’s almost like repentance and forgiveness.

So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see everything has become new! All of this is from God. 2 Corinthians 4:127

Rarely do I feel grateful for the tilling process, although Paul encourages us to give thanks in all situations (I Thess. 5:16).

But as a gardener, I know that this churning, this disruption of the status quo, this perhaps violent act is necessary in order to have the desired fruit, in order to grow more than clover.

And we are in the hands of a Master Gardener, my friend.

Even if He allows someone else to till the garden for Him, he is still preparing that space for better things.

Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as He is doing today. So have no fear. Exodus 50:20

I wonder if the garden is concerned with who is doing the tilling?

I am usually very concerned with who is churning up my life.

Will I fight God’s effort to till my life, as the hard ground sometimes fights my efforts? Do I accept that God may have set me apart for growing fruit? Is it arrogant to think that God wants to use me for growing more than clover, as the rest of the yard does?

For you are a people holy to the Lord your God; it is you the Lord has chosen out of all the people on earth to be his people, his treasured possession. Deuteronomy 14:2

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. I Peter2:9

I believe God calls us out of this world (John 15:19), transforms us by renewing our minds (Romans 12:2), and enables us to produce good fruit (Galatians 5:22). Will I welcome His tilling of my life? Will I thank Him for exposing the dark underbelly of my emotions to His light?

God knows what needs to grow, when seeds need sowing, and when my life needs tilling.

But you, O mountains of Israel, shall shoot out your branches, and yield your fruit to my people Israel; for they shall soon be home. See now, I am for you; I will turn to you, and you will be tilled and sown. Ezekiel 36:8-9

What a blessing that God has chosen us to bear His fruit. I trust He will do whatever it takes to prepare me to grow more than clover, so that I can yield fruit for His people.

Betsy