Gray and Chilly

In the warm weather that brightened our spirits last week, my sugar snaps pushed through the soil and rejoiced with me. But Sunday, I covered them with the protective gauze that keeps them warm and lets in sunlight. A forty degree drop in temperatures would challenge these young plants. I would do what I could to lessen the shock.

This is what March is all about in Tennessee. 75 degrees one day, 35 degrees the next. I would like to say that such weather changes don’t affect me. Unlike my sugar snaps, I live in a climate-controlled space with many resources to protect me from the wintery weather. But the truth is this gray and chilly day has me feeling, well, gray and chilly.

Intellectually I know that such feelings can only affect me if I let them. I am not a sugar snap plant blown by the wind and left to the elements. In my core, I am a child of God, beloved and adopted, chosen to live in a royal priesthood. But today, I am a whiney old widow whose joints hurt.

Usually, when I am feeling gray like this, I wander outside and listen to the creek and the birds. I feel the wind and the sun on my face and stick my hands in the dark, wet soil. But it’s 35 degrees outside and I want to stay inside.

Because I lost three trees to the ice storm in January, I decided to plant two new ones. Not hackberries like the ones I lost, but fig trees. I have a dwarf fig in my garden, but I am planting the not-dwarf kind of fig tree in my yard. They arrived Saturday when it was warm. The temptation was to plant them right away, but I am observing Saturday sabbath for Lent, so I let them sit inside.

Today, I am grateful that these young plants are not exposed to the chilly weather yet. I sense a little providence in their protection. And today, their healthy green leaves and promises of future beauty, shade, and fruit are lifting my spirits.

Even when it is gray and chilly, even when my emotions urge me to curl up on the couch, a young plant reminds me of what opportunities lie ahead – opportunities for warmth, for growth, for bearing fruit. No matter my mood, God gives me the opportunity to care for others, to exhibit joy and love, and to bear fruit for His Kingdom.

It may not look like much right now, but these sugar snaps will grow tall and these small fig plants will become trees. The chill will pass; the sun will burst through the clouds and warm the ground. A little providence and faith will see me through the gray days into His light.

And not only that but we can also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. Romans 5:3-5.

Warmer days are ahead.

Love in Christ, Betsy

Oops!

The garlic is up! I have already cut the scapes once, but I will cut them a few more times before I let them grow unbothered.

The thick green leaves encourage me that there are hearty bulbs below the surface. This especially encourages me because my garlic crop was a failure last year. Not one sprouted. I didn’t want to write about it because who wants to broadcast their failure? Besides, I wasn’t sure what the problem was.

Was there too much water? Had the cardboard poisoned the soil? Had some underground critter eaten them? The options for blame were plentiful.

My previous year’s crop had been successful. When last year’s bulbs came in, I planted them just as I remembered planting them the year before, being careful to always plant the bulbs point down as I remembered doing it the year before. Spacing them out, covering them with dirt, and watering frugally.

That’s the problem with memory. This year, I read the instructions again and watched the video on garlic planting. Perhaps I had done something wrong. Indeed. Garlic bulbs are always to be planted point up. And I had so carefully planted them point down. Poor bulbs! Breaking from their shells to find only darkness and dirt instead of the sunlight they craved.

Do not be wise in your own eyes: fear the Lord and turn away from evil. Proverbs 3:7.

Less than a minute looking at the video with all the bulbs point up and I saw the error in my ways. I had trusted in myself, been wise in my own eyes. I wonder where else this is happening.

How often am I confident that I know what to do, and how often is that in error? Sometimes the results are not as clear cut as no garlic harvest. Like the Pharisees and Sadducees and scribes, I love to study scripture and contemplate theology. But their confidence in their own wisdom made them unable to imagine that God was doing something wonderful in their midst. Jesus broke the Sabbath laws. Jesus touched lepers, ate with sinners, talked to Samaritans. They knew this was wrong.

Is it possible that in my self confidence I have “misremembered” what the scriptures teach? Secure in my understanding, have I judged as right something that is wrong, or judged as wrong something God is using to further His kingdom? Have I been confident in planting my bulbs upside down and then been surprised they didn’t grow?

There is hope. I returned to the basic instructions, those instructions I thought I knew but didn’t. I looked at the picture and could see where I was wrong. Prayer, Spirit-led Bible study, conversations with those whose gardens are full of fruit, all of these can enlighten me to the error of my thinking. And I need to be humble enough to admit I was wrong, brave enough to admit my failure.

Because when the life I am living isn’t producing a harvest of the Spirit’s fruit, I need to examine what the problem is. It may be as simple as pointing the bulbs in the right direction – toward the sun, toward the Son.

Jesus said to them (the Sadducees), “Is this not the reason you are wrong, that you know neither the scriptures nor the power of God?” Mark 12:24

Love in Christ, Betsy

Seeds and Hope

The sun warms my face and arms and a trickle of sweat runs down my face. Sweat! In the cold of a few short weeks ago, planting sugar snap seeds felt like a dream, a wishful hope, a potential impossibility. But here I am. It’s March and I am plating sugar snap seeds and sweating.

I pulled up the tarps which have, hopefully, killed all the emerging weeds. I have made my furrows and covered the dried pods with nutrient rich soil. The ground is damp and rain is in the forecast, so I won’t water today, but I have tested the hose and sprayer in anticipation.

The weather on the first of March was very similar to the weather on the last day of February, but the emotions were far different. March means gardening, getting outdoors, warmer weather, flowering trees, and greening grass. This March I will plant two new fig trees in my yard. Not the dwarf, patio fig I have in my garden but real trees. This March I will host an Easter Egg hunt for a branch of my large family, and my yard needs to be ready. This March, I will add beets to my garden for the first time.

God willing.

Because we don’t really know, do we? I have all these plans, and I will work diligently to put them in place, but who really knows except God? As much as March means warmer weather to me, it can also mean tornados and freak snowstorms. The irises are up and the garlic bulbs are sprouting, the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. Winter is changing into Spring, but we are not there yet.

All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them. Hebrews 11:13-16.

Am I looking forward to a homeland with Christ as much as I am looking forward to warm weather and tasty sugar snaps? I have faith that His new world will be considerably better than the one I live in now. But the one I live in now can be lovely. Full of people I love and beautiful sunrises and fruit bearing trees.

Have I made plans, prepared myself for that family reunion? Have I planted seeds that will bear fruit there?

My time on this earth is limited. My death may not be imminent, but it is inevitable. 100% probability. I plant. I plan. I hope to make memories and connections and reach out beyond myself. I plant trees even if I may never see them grown. Someone else can harvest their fruit if I am unable. I am just a traveler here, a visitor.

The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine (the Lord’s); with me you are but aliens and tenants. Leviticus 25:23.

I am so grateful for the opportunity to live here, to plant these seeds, to feel the sun on my face and the sweat on my brow. What hope March holds. What hope faith provides. This day is wonderful, a gift. And that future, that future heavenly country? That will be even better.

I drop the seeds into the soil and lift my face to the sun.

Love in Christ, Betsy