Lessons from My Garden

 It’s remarkable how much even a small garden and yard can teach you about life and faith. 

The fresher, the better 

I start every morning with a smoothie made in my little NutriBullet: a banana, a few pieces of frozen fruit, a teaspoon of hemp seed, a cup or more of almond milk, and a handful of dark green leaves like spinach or chard (these days I’m using beet leaves because that’s what’s growing). I derive great satisfaction from knowing that within minutes of pinching those leaves from their stems, their nutrients are advancing through my bloodstream like little soldiers pushing back enemy lines. 

I can’t count on the food I ate yesterday to sustain me today, and I can’t rely on last Sunday’s sermon to get me through the week. Time with God must happen every day if we’re to stay spiritually strong. God’s mercies are new every morning. (Lamentations 3:23) 

Roots of bitterness 

Every gardener knows that when you pull a weed, you must yank out the entire root or it will quickly grow back. We have a lot of crushed rock in our yard, and the weeds inevitably find their way through it. I’ve been spraying them weekly, but the environmentally friendly products available rarely reach the roots. At first, my efforts appear successful when the weeds shrivel up. But within days, I see a persistent shade of green sprouting from the middle of the deadness.

There’s a good reason the Bible calls bitterness a root. On the surface, it might manifest as anger, envy, or resentment. You do your best to get rid of those ugly sprouts through confession, snipping them off at ground level. Everything looks fine—for a while. But when a root of bitterness still lives in your heart, it eagerly shoots to the surface at the first opportunity. Pulling weeds in my yard and garden reminds me of this soul truth every time: bitterness needs rooting out. I can’t do this myself. I need God, the master gardener, to do the work in my heart. 

Thinning is difficult, but necessary 

I feel like a meanie when it’s time to thin out my carrots, beets, or onions. The poor little babies didn’t ask to be planted so close together. Why must they be sacrificed? Plus, it’s hard work! Unlike pulling weeds, you must use surgical precision or you’ll remove too much and end up with nothing. But if you don’t pull the smallest plants from an overcrowded row, the entire row will yield only small, misshapen fruit. The stronger plants need space.

What in your life is devouring time and space that you could better invest in your strengths? Do you need to sacrifice something good in order to produce the choicest fruit? 

Beautiful does not equal perfect 

As I deadheaded a basket of Calibrachoa, I made a spiritual exercise of it by imagining each dead blossom I removed represented something dark in my soul, such as a lie I was believing. I asked God to remove every lie from my heart, leaving only truth and beauty. Even as the deadness came away and the plant became more healthy-looking and beautiful, God reminded me that it had always displayed far more good stuff than bad. Although I could never manage to find every teensy flawed bit, that didn’t stop the plant from being beautiful just the same. This encouraged me so much.

You and I will never be perfect as long as we’re on this planet. Don’t despair. Life and beauty still abound. The splendor of your well-lived life can still inspire those around you.

Happy gardening!