January 2008 | Posted in • Life | (0) Comments |
It was a humid August morning. My heart was heavy with dread. It was not yet 7:00 in the morning, but I was already hurting, sweaty, tired, and more than ready to retreat back to civilization. The mosquitoes seemed bigger than I remembered from before, and I longed to quit. The enemy was waiting for me, I knew. I could hear their buzzing and zinging. It was just a matter of time. It would be a painful skirmish.
Alone and armed with only a five-gallon bucket, I faced the scene of the coming battle. It would be me against the wasps. I knew that even if I surrendered, I would not leave the pea patch unscarred. I had been given my orders. The peas had to be picked.
As a child, I truly believed my family’s mission each summer was to feed every man, woman, and child in Sampson county, all from our garden. I knew this was so because my job was to pull every blade of nut grass and water every single plant. Later in the season, I was also privileged to pick, dig, pull, and cut the produce that grew. I was never consulted about the length or number of rows in our garden; had my family asked, they would have been much shorter and far fewer. I knew before I was a ‘double-digit” that I intensely disliked – dare I say “hated” – gardening.
I also felt I was treated unfairly. Because my brother was allergic to bee stings, he received amnesty from most of the work in the ‘battle zone.’ He was also pardoned from shelling and snapping because he bruised the produce. The only thing that kept me going back day after day was respect for and fear of my mother, although hunger probably had something to do with it, too.
Today I view gardening differently. I begin looking at seed catalogues during the winter, anticipating that morning when I’ll wake up and just know it’s time to plant. I enjoy the feel of cold dirt between my bare toes, and I feel a great deal of satisfaction now when I pull a weed off a row. I’ve learned to use bug spray, and I no longer fear wasps. My mother is so proud of me … and my children are concerned for my sanity!
What happened between childhood and adulthood to change my attitude towards gardening from dread to anticipation? My middle child says that I got too many bee stings, but I think that maybe I started seeing some of the principles of gardening at work in my life.
For example:
If I till my soil (build my faith) and get rid of the rocks (bad habits) and tree roots (false beliefs) in my garden (life), it will be easier for my seeds (gifts, talents) to germinate and grow (bless others).
I’ve learned that both mulching (reading the Word) and regular watering (praying) greatly reduce the number of weeds (temptations) I have to deal with.
Fertilizing (fellowshipping with like-minded believers) at regular intervals strengthens my plants (sharpens my walk with God).
Pruning (repenting of sins immediately) keeps my crop healthy (helps set the right example for my family/circle of influence).
Rotating crops (change promotes growth) and allowing areas to remain fallow at times (keeping the Sabbath) help provide an increased harvest (more fruitful life).
I’m still pulling weeds, squashing offensive bugs, and scaring away the occasional predator, which is usually the neighborhood dog. But I spend most of my gardening time enjoying the simple pleasures of anticipating the next planting, sharing God’s bounty, counting my blessings, and praying that my children will one day choose to plant gardens of their own.
“While the earth remaineth, seed time and harvest shall not cease … ” Genesis 8:22
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