spiritual growth – The Victory Garden

As I choose seedlings for my summer planting, I am reminded once again of how much of an amateur gardener I am.

Staring at the rows of healthy little green plants, I am amazed at the different fruits and vegetables, the variety of options, the abundance of choices. And this is just one garden center. There are thousands of these centers and millions of these plants.

Serious gardeners, professionals, grew all these seedlings from which I get to choose a few for my garden. Rows of squash varieties, cucumbers and eggplants, shelf after shelf of pepper choices, hundreds of herbs and spice plants, an entire area devoted to tomatoes. Scientists and researchers created hybrid varieties of every plant to maximize various desired attributes such as size, color, germination, heat resistance, taste, seed content, spice level, and the timing of fruit production. The people who developed and grew these plants were serious gardeners.

But as amateur as I may be, I am still a gardener.

Some gardeners strive to keep their harvest organic, grow the largest tomato, or cultivate the pretty heirloom ones. Some gardeners research techniques that replenish the soil or reflect ancient traditions. Some gardeners want their yards on the tours and spend hours making them pristine. Some have agricultural degrees and teach Master Gardening classes. I just want home-grown produce.

As simple as my goals are, I am still a gardener.

If you have one tomato plant in a pot on your balcony, or one flower you have kept alive, you too are a gardener.

Very truly, I tell you, anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life, and does not come under judgement, but has passed from death to life. John 5:24.

I am so tempted to compare myself to others; are you as well? There are some much better gardeners out there, and some much “better” Christians. You know the ones – they go about singing praise music all the time and only read uplifting books. They never get angry with their kids or over-imbibe. They spend hours feeding the hungry, visiting prisons, and caring for the poor. They remind me of what an amateur Christian I am.

But as amateur as I may be, I am still a Christian. I believe and I am a witness to God’s amazing love.

And if you have heard His word and truly believe in Him, then you too are a Christian.

But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. John 1:12-13.

If you have planted a seed, if you have a tomato plant on your balcony, if you have believed enough to act, then you too are on the path to witnessing to God’s love for the world.

But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. James 1:18.

Because just looking at the rows of plants at the garden center does not make me a gardener. Taking one home and planting it in my yard does. But that is all it takes. I do not have to be a Master Gardener, which requires education, experience, and community service.

I do not have to a minister or a missionary, but I do need to act on my belief in God.

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 you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. John 13:34-35.

I may be an amateur, but I can love my neighbor. I can love the person in need. I can respond in love when someone breaks line or insults me. I can love those with whom I disagree.

God’s love, planted and growing inside me, gives me the power to share this love, His love, with others. Let’s not leave the gardening up to the professionals. Join me and we can spread His love over all the earth.

Betsy

Come along with me to the garden.

See the emerging plants bursting into the daylight from the dark soil.,

Smell the dirt, the dank aroma of vital minerals placed at our fingertips. Smell the heavy sweetness of the flowering trees and the gentle whiffs of honey from the bushes.

Hear the symphony of birds calling for each other, sharing the news, searching for food, shelter and friends.

Feel the warmth from the sun heat your skin, the gently breeze, the blinding light.

In the distance, mowers and sirens and honking horns remind me that I am in the midst of a city; others are rushing about their day, busy with their lives, desperate or hurried or hard at work.

But here in the garden the young plants reach for the metal supports like young children reaching for a parent’s hand. Listening to some innate urging, the fragile tendrils cling to the poles, wrap themselves around them and pull themselves toward the sun.

Will you help me help them? Adjust the nozzle setting on the hose and depress the handle. A gentle mist sprays the sugar snaps who bend under the pressure. The green leaves shudder as the dirt darkens and pools collect around the stalks. The needy ground quickly pulls all the moisture out of sight, down to hidden roots. As the pressure of the sprayer lessens, the plants snap back to their upright posture, tiny droplets breaking free from their leaves. They seem happy.

Walk with me along the garden to my new plants. The fig and raspberry stalks are struggling to adapt. I fear it is cooler than they like it, but I water and encourage them. It’s still early; they may yet grow. Turning the nozzle to a stream of water, I soak the base of the plants, pausing to let the soil absorb it, then soaking it again.

Changing the nozzle setting back to spray, I survey my determined garlic plants. Can you smell the scapes when the water hits them? Just a hint of garlic? Or is that my imagination? If I touch the leaves I can smell garlic on my hands, reminding me of the basil. Do all leaves smell?

The aroma of cut grass wafts from the neighbor’s yard, kicked up by the mower. Are we insensitive to the scents around us, until they are cut, bruised, touched? What other plants in my yard can speak to my senses like the garlic, the grass? See the tall onion grass growing there?

Look across my yard. Tiny dots of white and purple and yellow flowers cover my yard like dabs of paint on a green canvas. Tall onions and balls of dandelion seeds rise above the mix. Soon the mowers will come and tame their enthusiasm, but they will grow again.

Winding the hose back into its resting spot, I ask you to look over the rest of my garden. Soon I will plant cucumbers at the far-right end of the garden. All this space on the right will be for the tomatoes. I plan on planting peppers here in the middle.

It’s all just cardboard covered ground right now, until the chance of a freeze has passed. But I can see a growing garden. I have seen it for thirty years. I know what it looks like, what it can look like. I know the dangers, the risks, the challenges. But I also know the joy of fruit ripening, of juicy tomatoes and crispy cucumbers eaten the day I pick them.

Won’t you come with me to the garden today?

God is already here. He created this ground, these plants, those birds, that sky. He created you and me. He gave us an innate desire to grow, to reach out for others and for Him.

For what can be known is plain to them because God has shown it to them. Ever since the creation of the world his eternal power and divine nature, invisible thought they are, have been understood and seen through the things he has made. Romans 1:19-20.

Come along with me to the garden.

Betsy