This is the time of year when zucchini grow to the size of
footballs and tomatoes engage in population explosions. We don’t grow zucchini.
(I got zucchini-ed out in childhood by my frugal mother’s zucchini creations.) However,
my husband has a favorite sunny spot by the garage for his yearly “farm” of
tomatoes. By September they shout “pick me, pick me!” We try to share, but find ourselves gifted by
other tomato-growers whose plants went into overdrive and don’t realize we have
our own stash.
I’ve been reading John 15 in different translations in
preparation for a speaking opportunity in October. It’s about grape vines, of
course, but in some ways the truths fit tomatoes, especially if we were real
savvy tomato-vine-keepers. These three words seem to summarize the passage:
PRUNED: Our heavenly Father is the vine dresser. He knows what to snip off so that more
nourishment goes into the fruit-producing branches. If there’s a sucker vine,
off it goes. Have to admit grapes and
tomatoes differ here. Tomatoes need “cages” or supports. Lesson: life’s
unpleasant experiences can leave us better or bitter. “Better” if we see them as
God’s pruning wisdom. “Bitter” if we think God doesn’t have our best interests
in mind when hard, “life-pruning” things happen.
NOURISHED: The
passage talks about “remaining” in the vine. Staying attached to the main vine
is the only way the auxiliary vines can get the nourishment to grow grapes.
When we go off and do our thing, goodbye healthy fruit. Without a “cage” to
support its wimpy branches, the tomato would similarly have problems, flopping
all over with the fruit in contact with the ground where they’d be most likely
to decay (or feed the local mice and rats). When I “lift up” my Bible off the
table by my rocker to read it, or “lift up” my prayer concerns to Him, I am nourished and
encouraged.
FRUITFUL: Finally comes harvest, and off come the
grapes. And what’s their purpose? To
nourish! To provide fruit that will last (v. 16). Jesus said, “This is my command: Love each
other” (v. 17). Let’s hear it for tomatoes in salads, as sauces, and as lumps
of red goodness in kabobs or cooked dishes. Oh yes, tomato juice, if you want
to recruit a blender. God is not limited by what He can accomplish through our
personalities and abilities. He never intended for us to sit on a platter and
be admired at length!
Maybe I’ve been a bit light-hearted about our bumper crop of
tomatoes. I remember that when Jesus taught, He used simple object lessons.
Many of His listeners were farmers or had a small garden for their family. You
don’t leave a crop (or a garden) to itself. It needs care, or you’ll just have
what Proverbs described of Mr. Sluggard’s farm: full of thorns and weeds, and
its stone wall in ruins (Proverbs 24:30-34).
I wonder if Mr. Sluggard intended to grow tomatoes. Or zucchini....
A few blocks away from us is an old house that was
“flipped,” re-done inside and out, and quickly resold. Revamping properties is
“big” these days as an investment, but it takes people with energy (and money)
to make it happen. As we drove past it over the months of remodeling, it was
fun to see a tired structure with a weedy lot turned into an asset to the
neighborhood.
I thought of that when I saw this décor sign at a store:
Home is where our story
begins.
Before investors came in to that house, it saw many
“stories.” But today’s trend is “update”—an idea that is supporting numerous
“this old house”-type programs on television.
When I try to connect the dots of this saying to scripture,
I’m struck by this truth: a “home” is not just a place to eat and sleep. It’s
connections of caring people. The Greek word for “home” is oikos which is also translated “family.” Paul used that term in his
letter to his protégé Timothy, saying that children or grandchildren whose
mother or grandmother is a widow (and, in those times, likely without financial
resources) should “show piety at home and repay their parents” (1 Timothy 5:4
NKJV).
Said another way, if aging and difficult circumstances have
left one’s parent in need, the children need to step up, if possible, to where
their story began. I honor my husband for the sacrifices he made for his
parents as they aged. His dad declined rapidly in his early seventies. His
mother, who had never learned to drive, was nearly stranded at their rural home
a twenty-minute drive away.
When a small rental house next to ours came up for sale, we
scrimped for a down payment and moved them next to us. We also insisted his
mother take driving lessons and paid for those.
She fussed and fumed, but survived learning. And when she received her
driver’s license in her late 60s, we held a “graduation ceremony” for her, complete with a
congratulatory cake and “graduation gown” (one I’d saved after having had to
buy it for one of my degrees).
After her husband's death, she remained in that home under our watch-care
(and increasing care) until her last year of life, when Alzheimer’s left her so
disabled that I could not longer care for her by myself.
My husband parents lived many places during their lives,
especially as my husband's dad's main career as a pastor meant moves between parsonages. Thus, my husband had many "homes" in his personal history until the family settled in this town, leaving full-time ministry to take over the aging maternal grandparents' orchard. But for more than
half of his life, “home” has been our current house, which he bought with his teacher's salary, and to which he brought me as a
bride.
This is where we began our “story” of marriage and family,
and where our two children began their “story.” It’s getting old and frayed in
places. We’re on our third kitchen floor and the rug has obvious trails of use,
plus milk and pet accidents that soaked to the padding. But if walls (and rugs)
could talk, oh—they’d talk.
The babies we brought home from the hospital are now grown
and have homes of their own. But there’s a special charm in being able to talk
to their children about “Nana and Papa’s home.” After all, it’s where their parents’ story began.
When a friend brought us a sack of peas from his garden, I
smiled the whole time I popped open the pods and peeled out the tasty little
seeds. Yes, I ate a few raw. What a plan
of God to put such tasty morsels in a zip-open (or pop-open) container! Out of
one little seed came so many more. So many sweet green blessings!
For some
reason during this mindless task, some hymn lyrics came to mind:
His love has no limit, His grace has no
measure,
His power has no boundary known unto
men.
For out of His infinite riches in
Jesus,
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth
again.
The words are the chorus to “He Giveth More Grace” by Annie
Johnson Flint (1866-1932). How many times have I sung that encouraging hymn
without realizing the discouraging circumstances
out of which it rose?
Annie
Johnson was born into a humble family in New
Jersey. Three years later, her mother died while
giving birth to her sister. Her father, who had an incurable disease, willed
his precious daughters to another family, the Flints (thus her new last name), knowing
they’d bring the girls up in a home of faith. Annie accepted Christ at age 8
during revival meetings.
CHEERFUL OUTLOOK
Annie was
said to have a cheerful, optimistic outlook, even as arthritis took over her
body, making her an invalid eventually confined to a wheelchair. When her
adoptive parents died just months apart, Annie had to find some way to support
herself and her sister. With a pen in her twisted fingers, she made cards and
gift books of her poetry. One of those better-known poems was “God hath not
promised skies always blue.”
Oh, the
power packed into poetry and hymns, even years after their composition During
World War 2, a missionary named Darelene Deibler Rose found herself in horrific
circumstances as a prisoner of the Japanese. Her husband had died and she
expected the same fate as she trudged day by day through the hardships of
prison camp.
Just two
weeks before brought to this prison, she’d felt led to memorize the lyrics of
“He Giveth More Grace.” One day, returned to her cell after a hearing by her
captors, her grief was almost unbearable. She cried until there were no more
tears, then the words of this song came back to her. She sat up and sang:
He giveth more grace when the burdens grow
greater.
He sendeth more strength when the
labors increase.
To added affliction, He added his
mercy,
To multiplied trials, His multiplied
peace.
Eventually she would be released, and spoke and wrote widely
of her experience.
I don’t
intend to diminish the power of this amazing truth by comparing it to a bowl of
peas. But I think the Lord spoke to me through that humble kitchen task of
shelling pods of bounty. He specializes in multiplying the good things of His
character: His grace, His strength, His mercy, His peace.
In our most
difficult trials, they are waiting for us to discover and claim.
I happened to hit the fabric store on just the right day.
Their bonus for shoppers was a big reusable shopping bag with a fun
saying. My one cone of serger thread and
a small notion, both bought on a half-off coupon, rattled embarrassingly on the
bottom. But I liked the saying, a takeoff on “Carpe diem” (“seize the day”)
attributed to the Roman poet Horace. His idea as that one should enjoy life
while one can. Well, to me that sounds almost narcissistic, and I’ve seen
enough of that negative character quality in people who think life is all about
them. But “squeeze the day”—as in squeeze the tangy goodness out of the sourest
of fruits--for me implies finding the best in even the negatives and pressure
points.
I’m glad my Bible checks me on the other meaning of “enjoy
life while you can.” Yes, that seems to be the message of Ecclesiastes until
you get to the end of that book, and the author admits there’s a better, God-perspective
to the days we’re allotted to live.
Scripture has a phrase, “make the most of every opportunity,” and I
think this gives the more God-pleasing approach to making the day count. Among
verses that use it:
“Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity” (Colossians
4:5). I call that “propriety,” acting
wisely and kindly to others. Mud-slingers make enemies, not friends.
“Be very careful, then, how you live-not as unwise but as
wise, making the most of every
opportunity, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but
understand what the LORD's will is” (Ephesians 5:15-17). This one teaches me to
keep my eyes open to God-opportunities so that even in negative experiences I
can grow and glorify Him. No griping!
“Therefore, as we have
opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong
to the family of believers” (Galatians 6:10). This is my reminder to be Jesus
to the people around me. No mean or demeaning words—and if I experience those
from someone else, to resist reacting in the same negative way, instead looking
to Jesus, who understands.
As I write this in early August, we are reeling over
back-to-back mass gun violence in Texas and Ohio. An ordinary day ended in
horror not only for those killed but those injured or left behind. For some of
the deceased, stories of Christian faith will emerge. For others, sadly, the nightmare will never
end. I know I was changed by my tiny experience of another’s reckless decision
to drink and drive. But we lived, even the drinking driver in the other
vehicle.
Squeeze the day....opportunity waits to turn sour into
sweet.
