Farmers

I sit in the front yard, hand pulling little weeds. The yard looks nice from the street. You don't notice the weeds unless you're walking by. But here I am, pulling these little buggars before they go to seed. I look up the street, and across the way at the soccer field. Then it hit me. We're all farmers.

This doesn't make me happy. We raise a fairly useless "crop". Grass. Kentucky blue grass, to be specific. In arid Colorado. Doesn't make much sense, does it? We can't eat it. No livestock eats it. The wild bunnies do, but I'm not speaking to them. They ate too much of my garden this summer. Well, I take that back. I do speak to them. I tell them, "You can eat the grass. You can even eat the flowers. Just leave my vegetable garden alone! You see that fence? That means keep out!" That's what I tell them these days. I empathize with Mr. MacGregor. Ole Peter Rabbit doesn't get my sympathy anymore.

But back to the grass thing. I think of all the time and expense we suburbanites spend on keeping the yard looking good enough to keep the neighbors from talking and the city from giving us a citation. Sure, it's fun to walk out there barefoot. But I'd rather put on shoes and walk in a pasture. I'd rather be a useful farmer. A real farmer.

So what I do is plant seeds. Ideas, actually. In our children's heads. Thoughts of living away from the city. Living off your land. Living simply. And then I pray for those seedlings to take root.

Maybe I am a bit of a farmer after all.

Buy Locally

I picked up a box of Clementines on sale today at the store. When I read the fine print and saw they were from Chile, I said, out loud, "Nope. I'm buyin' local," and put them back. "I'm stickin' with the peaches!" The fresh Colorado peaches taste great this time of year.

We don't need every exotic food known to man available to us every day of the year. More of us need to stop buying food shipped in from overseas. (The tainted dog food from China should be sufficient as a wake up call!)

If, like us, you lack enough garden space to provide much food for yourselves; then if you can't GROW locally, at least BUY locally.

Of Vines and Such

Compare the unwise and uncaring "advice" of Eliphaz to Job regarding wicked men (which, in Eliphaz's opinion, include Job), with the words of our Lord in John.


[The wicked man's] branches will not flourish.
He will be like a vine stripped of its unripe grapes,
like an olive tree shedding its blossoms.
Job 15:32b-33 (NIV)


"I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit. You are already clean because of the word which I have spoken to you. Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me."
John 15: 1-4 (NKJV)



Dear Lord,
Thank you for your mercy. You don't leave us alone to rot in the garden. You don't leave us alone to wither in the scorching sun. You don't leave us alone to be attacked by unrelenting winds and snow. Instead, painful though it sometimes is, you prune us to bear more fruit. You, the perfect Gardener, allow us to abide in You. Because of you, we are clean.

Grafted by God

Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your Name...

So began the Collect of the Day in today's worship. This had new meaning for me, having just endured a gum graft two days ago, now sitting in the pew with a swollen and slightly sore face. The dictionary states that grafting produces uniting, joining, attaching, or implanting. But, as all gardening books tell you, the process involves cutting and a period of recovery.

When we grafted our children into our family, via adoption, there was certainly some cutting and pain involved. Pain for my husband and me when we couldn't conceive, pain for the birth mothers as they decided what to do, pain as they placed their babies for adoption, and the pain that our children may yet experience in the future. But as we look at our family, the family that God built for the four of us, we can't imagine it any other way. The pain of the past subsides, and we are left with the delicious fruit of the graft.

When God grafts us into His family, there is some pain involved. There is pain when other family members reject the faith (and you, too, in the process). There is pain as you gradually come to realize just how sinful you truly are. There is pain when you see yourself struggle in life, and non-Christian friends or family experiencing "success." And yet, triumphant over all of this, is the thankfulness for God's grace and mercy, the joy of studying His Word, and the wonder of worshipping Him with fellow believers.

Just as one recovering from gum surgery, you may be tempted to think, "I felt better BEFORE the surgery! Everything was just fine!" In reality, none of us is "fine," and we weren't better before the surgery. We were dead in our sin! God, in His mercy, takes us, saves us, draws us to Himself, and graciously grafts us into His family. May we love His name and worship Him forever!

Carnival of Beauty--Flowers

This week's carnival is up and running. Go here to see the list of women participating.

Thanks, Grandpa!

My maternal grandfather dutifully followed in the footsteps of his male ancestors and became a pastor, but his passion was agriculture. He was able to transfer this love of growing things to me through three special visits.

When I was about seven years old, Grandpa and Grandma DeChant took a trip from Ohio to visit us in Colorado one summer. Grandpa took me for a walk and when we were almost home, he stooped and drew my attention to some vividly colored zinnias growing alongside the sidewalk in our neighbors' yard. The colors were striking, but it was a long-spent bloom, turned withered and brown that he held in his fingers to show me. As he retrieved the seeds from their little case, he opened up a new world to me. The miracle of all those seeds, being produced by a single bloom was revealed to me by the man who secretly longed to be a farmer.

Seven years later it was my pleasure to take a trip to visit my grandparents in Ohio. I was proud to attend church on Sunday and hear him preach, but it was our forays out into his garden that I cherished. I remember most his roses, day lilies, and pansies. While checking on his rose garden I was very impressed that he was not the least bit reticent to squish aphids between his fingers. I wondered, "Will I ever love gardening so much that I won't think twice about squishing aphids by hand?"

Several years later, Grandpa was gone, and my mother and I took a trip to her childhood home in Virginia. The church where her father preached had turned into an Italian restaurant after the new church was built, and the parsonage where she lived was long gone. We sat in the former sanctuary ordering from the menu, and she regaled me with stories from her childhood. She remembered that Grandpa had grown pansies in the shady area between the church and the parsonage. We looked at old photos of the church while our dinners were being prepared. Then, when our meals arrived, we were blessed to be presented with sumptuous food garnished with...pansies! Only God can orchestrate such memories.

I now joyfully garden, I always grow pansies, and I unabashedly squish aphids by hand. I also look forward to eventually being reunited with my grandfather where we can enjoy God's heavenly gardens.