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A Master Gardener

22 April 2013

I got dirt under my fingernails yesterday. We spent time working in our garden, hoping to nurture young vegetable chutes into being. A baby salad. We ripped out weeds, grass, and baby trees sent forth by the big tree next door. And hammered the wooden stakes into the fresh, moist earth to construct a ladder of-sorts on which our peas and beans, our little children, can climb.

ImageWe laid them in the ground, just little seedlings – Sugar Snap Oregon Peas – a harkening to our mission field. So like our field is lies waiting before us, this earth is laying waiting before the seeds, waiting for growth, for bursting forth.

We continued to plant lettuce, spinach, and kale – the chilly season growers. The ones that endure.


Now, we wait.


And as we wait, I am overwhelmed by the revelation of the Father as a master gardener. I don’t have much of a green thumb, every plant I’ve been given by my love, I’ve killed. Brutally, violently. Accidentally. But He is better than me. He has a delicate hand, strong and calloused, but gentle. He coaxes growth from the least of these, from you and me.

I stood there with dirt on the knees of my skinny jeans, my hands clasped together, and tears on my face – God plants the seeds, He waters them, and He pulls out the weeds. The yuck and bad. He nurtures good fruits, good vegetables, out of us. It is His joy. Wow. Who am I that He cares for me? (Psalm 8:4) Who am I that He takes the time to help me grow roots deep, deep in Him, in joy?

So as I learn to nurture this garden with my husband, my love, I will learn to be nurtured, as a garden, by His Love.

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