No Harvest

I tell myself to persevere, but I am tempted to give up. Predators have stolen my tomatoes once again, despite the bird netting, despite the fence, despite the marigolds, despite the hot sauce. My harvest basket remains empty and despair creeps in.

Why did I ever think I could grow tomatoes? Nick could grow them. We had surplus tomatoes every year. We gave them away to anyone who would take them. I have not harvested any this year except the little cherry ones. I recognize I should be grateful for these little gems. Just as I was grateful for my one cucumber last week.

I should focus on my abundant basil, the peppers growing larger every day, the success of the sugar snaps and garlic earlier. I have so much to be thankful for, why does the lack of large red tomatoes depress me?

The growing season isn’t even over. My tomato plants are still green. They still have blossoms and little green tomatoes. I can redouble my efforts to protect them from whoever is stealing them, but I have lost any expectation of a ripe tomato.

Sometimes, things just don’t turn out like we wanted them to, expected them to.

I’ve been digging deep into the story of Joseph from Genesis. God gave him a dream of leadership, then his brothers sold him into a foreign country as a slave. Talk about life not living up to your expectations! Perhaps I am projecting his imagined despair on my garden troubles. Certainly, the absence of red tomatoes pales in comparison.

But the question remains the same. How do we, how do I, respond?

My brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance, and let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking in nothing. James 1:2-4.

And the only way my endurance will grow to have its full effect is if I endure things. Like a barren garden. Because a life without tomatoes is nothing compared to a life without Christ. I must take this challenge and learn from it, grow from it, endure it, give thanks for it even.

This is difficult because I don’t yet know what exactly I am supposed to be learning, if in fact I am supposed to be learning anything at all. Perhaps to not expect to succeed at everything? Perhaps to be grateful for what I do have instead of focusing on what I don’t? Perhaps to learn to persevere, endure in the face of failure?

When anger and condemnation arise in me do I consider myself a failure as a follower of Christ? When I see others falling short of a bountiful crop of spiritual fruit, do I doubt their motives, their commitment, their faith? I still have a garden, even if others have tomatoes and I do not. I am still a gardener. Tomatoes are still growing in my garden. I am just not getting to harvest them. They are not benefiting me personally. How vain to consider it loss if I do not benefit. Isn’t God concerned with all His creation?

Perhaps the fruit you are bearing isn’t benefiting you either. Perhaps God is growing it in you to benefit someone else. Perhaps that is the purpose of all the fruit we bear.

Or He may just be teaching me to endure. If Christ is our model and the perfect reflection of God, consider how much He endured – abandonment, torture, crucifixion, death. God has endured humanity’s failure, betrayal, resistance, refusal to believe and obey. He endures our fruitlessness to this day.

God has not given up on me or you or anyone else in the world. I will not give up on my garden. I will love it and care for it and tend to it. And I will thank God for teaching me to endure.

The Lord is not slow about his promise, as some would consider slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance. 2 Peter 3:9.

Love in Christ, Betsy