Harvesting the Garden, Part 2

The Delayed Harvest

One of the surest principles of the harvest is its delay. I can't pick beans the day after I sow bean seeds. Newly planted asparagus roots won't produce a significant crop for two or three years. Our sapling oak trees will provide a canopy of shade for our great-grandchildren’s play!

It is the slow, steady growth of trees that most resembles God's work—though the wicked spring up like grass, the righteous will flourish like a palm tree and will become oaks of righteousness. (Ps.92) One of the delightful oaks that has been growing in my life is the relationship that I enjoy with my three adult sons and their families. We share holidays and meals, gardening and golf, work and worship. What fed this splendid growth? The growth of it was painstakingly nurtured ring by ring and inch-by-inch.

• Ring #1: Playing most of my golf with my young sons rather than my friends. (By the second hole they were hot, frustrated, and ready to dash to the swimming pool.)
• Ring #2: Working with my boys in a small lawn care business. (I could have earned more money and suffered less grief—“Dad, do we have to mow today? It's too hot!"—if I had worked on my own.)
• Ring #3: Establishing my office at home. (I could have written several more books if I had located my office away from their frequent interruptions.)
• Ring #4:  Coaching my sons' athletic teams. (Doesn't everyone love a task that involves griping parents, incompetent  referees, and rowdy children?!)
• Ring #5: Vacationing as a family. (I would have preferred more romantic get-aways with my wife!)

Parenting makes remarkable demands but has few instant rewards. My boys didn't slap me on the back and say, "Wow! You're sure a great dad to give up your Saturday golf game to play golf with us." None of my golfing friends, who watched my handicap balloon to an eight from a two, said, "I think it's great to see a father put his kids first." So why did I persevere? Because I was confident that planting those choice seeds would one day produce a delightful harvest.

Harvesting the Garden

My dad was a zealous gardener—and his kids and grandkids were his co-gardeners. His half-acre garden was gloriously, phenomenally productive. From mid-summer to late fall, we harvested bags brimming with sweet peas, string beans and broccoli, gunnysacks stuffed with sweet corn, squash and potatoes, thirty-pound fruit boxes spilling over with tomatoes, beets and carrots; a pickup jammed with pumpkins, and on and on. Though dad could keep pace with most garden work, the harvest overwhelmed him. Every year—to the dismay of my depression-raised dad—a sizeable amount of produce went unharvested. One day as we were leaving the farm with a carload of vegetables, dad whined: "When are you going to get back and pick the rest of those beans? They're getting old.” A bit peeved, I teased: "What was that you said? `Thanks for helping?'" Dad heartily agreed with Jesus: The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few!

Even Mom would get frustrated with the abundance—she had the task of cleaning and storing them. Though I had never heard my mom cuss, one day after Dad unloaded another pile of produce, she protested, "Al, what am I going to do with all these damn vegetables?!" (Dad tried to solve the problem of abundance by buying two refrigerators for his garage and an extra refrigerator for each of his kids! But the problem wasn't solved until he discovered that our local soup kitchen would gladly take his excess produce.)

The harvest is one of the most tangible miracles in our world. Laura Simon explains:

You drop a seed in the dirt, water it, and wait for it to sprout. That's kind of magical, don't you think? I mean, here's a seed, a tiny fleck of matter, smaller, in some cases than the period that will end this sentence. But inside its insignificant little carcass are the makings of a five-foot-tall delphinium, say, with flowers so twinkling blue they'll make you suck in your breath.

 The harvest is breathtaking. Dad’s annual supply of seeds barely filled a shoebox. But the harvest couldn't be contained in the back end of a pickup—would a semi-trailer have been enough?!

The average ratio of harvested seeds to planted seeds in Biblical Palestine was about 8-1. When Jesus asserted that a fertile heart could produce a hundred, sixty, or thirty times what was sown, he envisioned a lavish productivity that would stun even my garden-wise father. God's goal is to make your life brim with marvelous fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, gentleness, and self-control. But it won’t happen until you humbly invite Him into your garden and ask Him to take charge.

Weeds, Final Thoughts

Though weed-free is a fantasy, weed-controlled is a possibility. Whether in the garden or in life, a persistent attack on weeds will ensure that I have increasingly fewer weeds to control. The Apostle Paul explained: “Just as you used to offer the parts of your body in slavery to impurity and to ever-increasing wickedness, so now offer them in slavery to righteousness leading to holiness.” (v.19) When I repeatedly submit to sin, I become enslaved "to ever-increasing wickedness." But when I submit to God, I become a slave to righteousness. Each time I refused to berate one of my son's coaches, it became easier the next time, and even easier the next. As I repeatedly knocked that weed back, its hold on me was weakened and I became increasingly bound by the good.

The chore of weeding is my chore. The cutworms won't decapitate my dandelions. The aphids won't annihilate my bindweed. The cattle won't consume my thistles. Look at a well-grazed pasture. The cattle keep the grasses trimmed to lawn height -- except for the three-foot high thistle spikes. (I don't blame the cows. I put on gloves to uproot thistles -- imagine eating one!)

I, too, must become a weed warrior, continually combatting the weeds that threaten to overtake my life. I must repeatedly praise God during an illness to fight the weed of self-pity. I must routinely play with my children to knock back the weed of selfishness. I am in a contest with weeds to see what will cover the ground. Will I sit idly back and let life-strangling weeds fill my life? Or will I struggle to establish Christ-honoring growth? I have a choice. The ground is bare -- but it won't stay bare for long.

The Persistence of Weeds: Part 2

The perpetual problem of weeds torments the perfectionist. (But what doesn't frustrate a perfectionist?) Henry Scougal, a seventeenth century Scottish believer, understood these relentless struggles with sin:

 

I cannot get all my corruptions starved. There are still some worldly desires lurking in my heart, and those vanities that I have shut out of the doors are always getting in by the windows.

 

I cannot entirely purge the toxic desires buried in my heart. And whenever one pushes through the soil of my life, I must uproot it again -- and again and again. When my sons’ basketball careers resurrected my dormant dream of starring on a high school basketball team, that dream had to be repeatedly uprooted. But invariably I left a few seeds in the soil of my heart which would sprout anew, and again (sigh!) have to be expelled.

What is the life-sucking weed you struggle with? (If you don’t know, ask your spouse or a close friend!) Consider the man whose fall leisure has been hunting, but now realizes that his obsession has strangled other God-given work. Will he find it easy to establish Biblical priorities? It may be excruciatingly difficult. When he sees his guns hanging in the gun case, when his buddies recount their hunting exploits, when he hears the call of migrating geese, -- each of these reminders will tug at his heart, luring him from his eternal callings. And even if he adopts godly priorities for one season, that weed may perennially assault his soul.

 

We all have weed seeds that hide in the soil of our hearts, squeezing out our fruitfulness. Which ones lurk in the soil of your heart?

The Persistence of Weeds, Part 1

How can I slay 100% of the weeds in my garden and within days a swarm of new weeds sprout? My enemies must be sneaking truckloads of weed seeds into my garden!

These wily seeds are impossible to expel because they have such cunning methods of dispersal. Weed seeds helicopter through the air. They hook into dog's fur. They hide in horse manure. They hitch a ride on my shoelaces. They are expelled in bird droppings. They are buried by forgetful squirrels. And once stockpiled in my soil, these seeds can lie dormant for centuries, patiently waiting to be brought near the surface where they will sprout and torment my great-great grandchildren!

As I have confessed, one of my chronic weeds has been looking for life through sports. As a boy, I was consumed by sports – playing and watching and dreaming about them. I could survive a week at summer camp only if Mom would send me the sports clippings from the daily newspaper! But as I matured in my walk with God (and as my opportunities for athletic glory diminished!) that weed appeared to die.

I was duped. Before that mature weed was uprooted, it had dropped countless seeds in the furrows of my heart. Some of those seeds were dredged to the surface and sprouted when my sons began playing high school basketball. One of my sons spent most of one year playing behind a boy who was much less talented (this was the judgment of a college basketball coach.)

His season long disappointment was an ongoing struggle for him—and for me! As his trial wore on, I was wearing out. At one low point I wrote in my journal: "Because basketball was such a significant part of my childhood hopes and dreams, these games are very painful. In my mind I know that God is in control and I know my son will have the experience that God wants him to have. But I'm tired of fighting this battle."

My challenge was to repeatedly and vigorously knock down that ever-sprouting weed: "Do not offer the parts of your body to sin, as instruments of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God, as those who have been brought from death to life; and offer the parts of your body to him as instruments of righteousness. Rom.6:13

When I was tempted, I had a choice--I could offer myself to God or to sin. When attending a game, I could sit by my co-grumblers—“What in the world is Coach doing now? Is he brain dead?!" Or, I could sit by someone who would encourage a respectful attitude--"It is sure tough being a coach." And in the car ride home, I could submit my will (and my mouth!) to new evidence of injustice or I could submit my will to God: "Lord, I know you are working for good in my son's life. Help me to trust your design."

 

Stay tuned.

Removing the Roots

Some time ago I toured a friend's garden that she inherited when she bought the house of an avid gardener. My friend was enchanted by the flowers that marched through her garden from spring to fall. Just days before my tour, she attacked the weeds that were gobbling her garden. In an hour, she had decapitated most of the weeds with a weed-eater. It looked great--temporarily. This neophyte gardener didn't know that most weeds grow lustily from any roots left in the ground. Getting the root is dirty work--that's why I have broken and blackened fingernails all summer long!

The weeds in life must also be uprooted or they will continue to stifle our growth. A former childhood friend periodically calls me. On one of these calls, Herb [not his true name] explained to me that at the height of an alcohol-induced argument with his father, he had bellowed: "And you bought me right-handed golf clubs when I was a kid!" What did Herb mean? Herb is left-handed. He views the purchase of those right-handed golf clubs as a symbol of his dad's careless concern. Herb reasons, "If he had truly loved me, he would have known that I needed left-handed clubs." The author of Hebrews warns: "See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many." (12:15). A bitter root has been tunneling and spreading in Herb's life for over fifty years. It has stolen the nutrients he needs to grow into a healthy human being. It has choked his ability to experience God's love. He lives a lonely, alcohol-dependent life largely because he has not removed that poisonous root. 

Which root is easier to remove--a two-year old child's naughty insistence on flinging his food across the bow of your dinner table or a seventeen year-old's haughty refusal to help at home? If parents overlook this sprouting weed: "Oh, but isn't he cute?”, they won't think the mature weed is cute at all: "Just try to make me clean my room!" Now the parents have a lusty weed whose poisonous roots have spread throughout this young rebel's life, causing him to be alienated from his family, arrested for underage drinking, kicked off his soccer team. So many weed seeds have been allowed to sprout and grow in the soil of his life that they won't be uprooted without blistered hands.

Is That a Weed?

Weeding is a tricky business because weeds mimic good plants. Weeds in the older versions of the Bible were called “tares”—probably a ryegrass known as darnel. Seedling darnel is almost impossible to distinguish from seedling wheat. Once established, these weeds are nearly intractable. Even sieving the grain to remove their seeds is ineffective because they are the same size as the wheat seeds. Thus, these seeds are milled with the wheat seeds, creating bitter bread.

Life’s weeds also mimic healthy growth. For example, we should nurture our bodies with nutritious food, regular rest, consistent exercise. But a legitimate concern for our health can become a greedy, nutrient-sucking weed, which suffocates our search for life:

 

  Our efforts at physical perfection offer us tangible solutions to fix what ails us -- the newest gym, the latest diet, hip fashions, a nip or tuck here or there. These cures require effort, energy, and money, but actually enable us to avoid the tedious and scary prospect of searching inward. They make us feel alive, but keep us from looking into the recesses of our soul.

As the weed of physical perfection matures, we deceive ourselves by calling it "discipline" or "keeping a trim figure" or "staying in shape." But the bitter seeds remain: "We may look better and be healthier than ever, but continue to feel just as awful."

Some time ago I planted a packet of coneflower seeds. Nothing sprouted for several weeks. Was it bad seed? Finally a few green leaves poked through the soil. Were they weeds? I was on the verge of executing them when I noticed a similarity to coneflower leaves. Still unsure, I let them grow. In another week, I joyously recognized about a dozen seedling coneflowers.

What is sprouting in my heart? Is it the worship of physical health or the desire to care for my God-given body? Is it a love of money or the desire to be a faithful steward? What is sprouting in my child's life? Are her testy responses merely the normal struggle for independence or is it the weed of rebellion? My challenge is to recognize, then remove true weeds before they mature and drop their horde of punishing seeds into my life.

Unfortunately, my capacity for self-deception is immense. Even though my vision is 20/20 when it comes to a friend's obsession with his leisure, my vision is about 20/2,000,000 when it comes to my own bossy argumentativeness. Therefore, I must humbly and continually ask God to see with his eyes:

Search me, O God, and know my heart;

  test me and know my anxious thoughts.

See if there is any offensive way in me,

 and lead me in the way everlasting. (Ps.139)