The beginning seedlings
I'm sitting by my sliding glass doors looking over the back deck that is covered with evidence of my husband's first attempts at creating a container garden of organic vegetables and herbs. He started small, but he has still worked hard. The heirloom seeds and containers didn't cost much, and he actually built one of the containers, which sits on the railing. The organic soil and fertilizer cost a good bit more than the non-organic stuff, but the most significant cost has been the increase in our water bill. Still, we were sure it would be worthwhile, and I have been grateful for his efforts. I have hardly touched most of it, other than when we transplanted the small plants he grew from seeds into the containers where they now thrive.
Beautiful, tasty basil
I have often heard gardening can be therapeutic and connect one to God on a deep level. After all, he is the One who has grown and tended every living thing on Earth and does the same with each soul surrendered to Him. My dad is a wheat farmer, so I should come by it naturally, but I've never had a green thumb. I think it's probably because I'm always trying to do too many things at once and constantly getting distracted from the task at hand to divert my attention to some other task that I imagine to be more pressing. So I have sat back, admiring my husband's work and gladly taking part of the harvest. (I suppose that's what I did all of my childhood since my dad's harvests provided my sustenance, and I can't remember that he ever said "no" to something I needed or wanted. As a farmer he probably came up short more times than I ever realized, but he somehow managed to spoil me anyway. I know my parents have witnessed God's miraculous provision time and time again.)
Black beans and rice with fresh pico
I have found new, tasty uses for fresh basil since we have had plenty of that herb, and I look forward to using the dried version I'm saving for the winter. We recently picked serrano peppers and used them in fresh pico de gallo (super yummy on fajitas or black beans and rice). The miniature bell peppers are growing nicely, too. Although the onions didn't fare so well, we don't mind much since there weren't many and we knew they were gamble. But it's the tomatoes that are the most disappointing.
These are some beautiful tomato plants: lush, green, and extending to heights well over 5 feet tall. We have one big problem: Our property is heavily wooded with lush, tall oak trees, too, and therefore we don't get much sunlight. That's the main reason we haven't tried any gardening before now. The deck, being elevated and getting a couple of hours of sunlight each day, was our only hope. Yet stretch their stems as they might, those tomato stalks cannot find enough sunlight to produce the juicy, plump fruit they were created to yield. We have eagerly awaited a blossom, but now the stalks are becoming too tall and heavy, and as my husband comes home to more bending, breaking stalks each day, he characteristically shrugs and says, "Well, that's how it goes sometimes."
Big, tall tomato-less tomato plants
He announced just a couple of days ago that he's going to stop watering the tomato plants. The water bill was far too much this month, and at least we have plenty of basil, serranos, and mini bells to show for his labors. We even got some lovely marigolds from seed since he read they are a great natural pesticide (and they've worked quite well.) I couldn't help being sad, though, that these beautiful tomato plants are just going to waste. There's something in me that wants to fight for them. Let's just try a little longer; we can't give up now; we've come so far.
We face moments like this in our lives on a much larger scale. What do you do when you realize money, time, and energy have been wasted on an investment that fell through, hundreds of acres of crops that failed, or a book that no one will publish? How to react when you get laid off, get called back for a second and then a third interview but don't get that dream job, or drive an hour to do a sales presentation where no one bought a thing, booked a repeat presentation, or had any interest in your products or business? Since we are having some withdrawals from daily marathons of watching the Summer 2012 Olympics, I can't help wondering how I'd feel if I had a good shot at a medal but got tripped by another runner in the finals or pulled a muscle just before the last run and had to sit it out. What would be like to be known as the best but just miss the gold because of a freak fall or an "off" day? What do we, as humans, do with unmet expectations, unrealized dreams, and disappointed hopes?
Miniature bell peppers
The answers are as varied as our personalities. Perhaps it depends on character, perseverance, and determination to get up and try again. Perhaps it depends on the dream itself -- was it really worth it, and how much longer do I pour my heart and soul into this dream? Or perhaps you really don't have a choice. We bought this farm, we have nowhere else to go and nothing to do but try again next year and pray the crops don't fail again. Funds, hours, and precious energy down the drain . . . but there's always next time, whether that's the next season, next publisher, next job opportunity, next sales presentation, or next Olympics in four long years. Make lemonade from those lemons. Or maybe not; maybe it's just time to call it quits, throw in the towel, get a new dream, or settle for whatever life has given thus far and live out the rest of your days without expecting much. After all, it hurt so much to be that disappointed. Why take the risk again?
Tomato plant
These are the moments in life that can define who we become and what our futures hold. For a Christian, they can be the moments that make or break our faith, especially when the stakes are higher than just time and money. What about when a life hangs in the balance as we wait for a kidney or wait to see if the chemotherapy worked or wait with the pregnant mom who doesn't know if her baby will make it -- or, worse, already knows it's too late and now must labor in anguish to give birth to her stillborn? How about when the ambulance is racing and the doctors are waiting at the ER and no one knows if anyone could survive a wreck that bad? These are the moments we can never forget and from which we cannot walk away unchanged.
And I wonder if it's a little easier if you don't believe in God. Not that I would ever be able to deny His existence and hand on my life personally, and not that I could even imagine trying to get through a single second without Him, but if I could chalk those disappointing, earth-shattering moments up to fate, bad luck, or normal life and move on, it might be a little easier. Christians who know God is real and trust in His unwavering love, clinging tight to the promises in His Word, cannot seem to help asking, "How could God allow this?" Eventually, if we follow that train of thought, we also have to wonder, "What if God now only allowed this but orchestrated it?" We may be broken, angry, confused, or disillusioned. "What if God doesn't care, or what if He isn't even real?" Where to go from here?
A lone blossom, too late to bear fruit
This post has taken a dramatic turn and a life all its own. As I sit here contemplating where to go from here figuratively, with fingers poised over keys but mind unable to form a conclusion, I spot something. What in the world? Can it be? We thought so once before, but we were wrong. Grab the camera, and head outside. Yes, it is! We had given up hope, but there it is: the first blossom. The bough is bent over low, and I don't know if it is strong enough to hold a tomato even if one should form, but that is the prettiest pair of little yellow flowers I've ever beheld. I text my husband. He's in an appointment and won't be able to respond for a while; the kids are still asleep; so it's just me, smiling up at that blossom, giving thanks. And I realize that with or without that blossom and with or without any resulting fruit, my answer would have to be the same.
Serrano peppers
Hope. It is to the soul what real food is to the body. Sure, we can live without it, or maybe even live on some processed substitute, but malnutrition sets in, bringing all sorts of other problems that may manifest quickly or take years to develop fully. And God whispers to my soul, Put your hope in me. I can't understand; I can't answer those hardest of life's questions; but I can choose to believe and hope because I know He is real, He has acted on my behalf so many times, and only He sees the beginning from the end. I am able only to see what's right in front of my face, and when the storm clouds roll into my life, my flesh despairs. I can choose to close my eyes and never open them again, or I can choose to wait on the Lord and watch the skies for that next ray of sunshine, its radiant beam breaking through to light my face, my heart, my faith.
Why? I don't know. But I know the Who, and I know He never leaves or forsakes us. It's that one set of footprints, and we scream, "Why did you abandon me? Why didn't you fix this? Why did you let this happen? Why did you let me fail?" There is a reason. We try to find it, perhaps spending a lifetime trying to learn whether we did something wrong to deserve this, or whether we should blame God for allowing it or blame Satan for attacking us. It couldn't possibly be for our own good, our growth, our maturing of faith -- could it? He said He would work all things for good to the one who loves Him, but this isn't my idea of "good." Can you trust Me? With Peter and thousands upon thousands who came before me, I say, "Lord, to whom else shall I go? You alone have the words of eternal life."
A man who lost his only son to pneumonia, all his property investments to a fire, and all four of his daughters at sea in a shipwreck penned, "It is well with my soul." Can I say that, too? I want that kind of faith, the faith of Job that says, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him." Oh, but be careful -- that kind of faith isn't developed in peaceful, prosperous, happy, everything-is-going-my-way times of life. Is it worth it? Is He worth it? If I truly have an eternal focus and recognize this world as a temporary home, a training ground for my faith, I can only answer, "Yes, Lord."
No, our failed tomato plants aren't tragic, but they caused me to pause and think about the disappointments and despair of life. I am so thankful that I always have a blossom of hope: God is in control, and this life is just the beginning for me.
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul. -John Spafford