Acorns have been on my mind a lot this fall. It all started when I was pruning some shrubs under a tall white oak tree, and thwack! I was hit on the head by a falling acorn—it was really painful! So many have fallen from this tree that we found it necessary to gather up the countless number that had come to rest in the grass. This menial task turned out to be quite relaxing, so I kicked back and took a closer look. The acorns were lying about with all the appearance of doing nothing. Having lost their shiny green gloss, they had turned a nice nut brown. Their caps had fallen off. Some were smushed, some discolored, and some were falling apart.
But as I picked them up, I saw marvelous things were happening.
The acorns testified to a truth I needed in that moment about rest.
When attached up in the tree’s crown, they were richly fed and loaded with carbohydrates, fats, and protein. They weathered the heat and some powerful storms for an assigned season; in this abiding, the acorns had been filled with all they needed.
Now on the ground, they’re doing their great work, feeding wildlife and putting down roots to produce mighty oaks. From a place of rest, being the fullest expression of themselves, they do the work that’s been prepared for them.
“Lord fill me up! Make me bloom to your glory! Let me rest in You and how you’ve created me to be uniquely fruitful.”
Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me (John 15:4).
Winter is beginning to wind down here, and it’s the time when pruning needs to be well underway. The blueberry buds are already emerging! Just a fleeting look at our scraggly shrubs makes it clear they need tending. I actually enjoy pruning…probably because I like things tidied up, and I get the immediate gratification of seeing some improvement in their appearance. It must give me a little boost of serotonin.
I also view it as an artsy endeavor. I’m making something more beautiful in its form and in its ability to produce. But I don’t care much for the weather that accompanies this winter pruning—it’s wet and chilly most days in February. I’ve gotten a start though, taking advantage of the warmer days we’ve had this particular February.
Some years I’ve neglected pruning for one reason or another, but because the results are wonderful when I do prune, I decided to create a calendar to remind me of when our plants need it. Pruning is done in different seasons depending on whether the plant blooms on old growth or new growth. Although many of the basics are the same, there are also some differences in how to prune different plants. After a little research I incorporated some basic instructions in the calendar along with some links. In our yard right now the limelight hydrangea, abelia, holly, ligustrum, rose of Sharon and blueberry plants need pruning. But the gardenia, azalea, Indian hawthorn, camellia, and other hydrangeas should be done in another season. If you aren’t sure about your plants, ask a local nursery or research online.
Another reason I like pruning is because like art, it’s a meditative practice. It’s a deliberate and purposeful process that brings me into the moment. As I was trimming our rose of Sharon a few weeks ago, I imagined the way it was going to look during the summer as a result. I remembered its growth last year and wondered how to remove what was not really needed for how I envision it this year.
New branches already appearing!
I was careful to make diagonal cuts. Is this the right place or should I do it here? How much should I remove on this one? I took out the extraneous branches growing up from the bottom, which were those rubbing against other branches, or crowding them, or just looking unseemly. I evaluated more branches to learn how they had responded to last year’s trimming.
While pruning the limelight hydrangeas, I recalled how the number of branches can impact the size of those big flowers. Fewer branches mean larger flowers. Did I want more blooms and smaller flowers or fewer blooms and larger flowers? How many branches do I need to remove to produce the larger flowered ones?
We have one blueberry bush, and I feel especially tentative about pruning it. I’m concerned I might make it less productive instead of more. Which canes should I remove?
I love the blossoms and the berries! I think I just need more bushes!
As I tended our plants, I came to know them better. Through touching and examining them, surveying their health, seeking out what might interfere with their flourishing, and envisioning their potential growth and beauty, I felt a connection with them as well as a deepened affection.
Handling my plants in this way gave me a new perspective on pruning. I think I understand more clearly how our heavenly Father goes about His pruning in our lives. It also highlighted tendencies and conditions in my life for which pruning is to my profit.
He’s not just cutting away, He’s tending us. Like my hands moving about in the crown of our shrubs, His hands move with care and intention in and throughout our lives. He assesses us affectionately, and with intimate knowledge, He determines how to make us more fruitful and more beautiful. He knows where we’re hardened, the woody old stuff that needs to go. He sees those places in us where there’s a constant rub, a chafing or irritation—those things that open us to attack or distract us from our purpose. He identifies the spindly, non-productive sprouts that crowd out the energy and air that other endeavors need. He finds our sideshoots, those that take away from our beauty and rebel against His design. He tenderly notes where we’ve been injured and where more light needs to penetrate. He discerns the strong healthy branches and knows how to make them more productive (John 15:2).
His pruning will show off His touch in our lives (John 15:8-9).
This lesson in how and why He prunes has been a useful countermeasure in neutralizing the apprehension I felt about “being pruned.” Have you felt that apprehension as well?
What about when He prunes? In her article, “The Gift of Continual Pruning,” Linnea Orians makes a heartening point. She tells about observing the pruning of apple trees on a nearby farm. From her close vantage point, it is apparent that pruning is not just a one time or even occasional event, but a recurring process. She says our “weaknesses have to be revisited and continually cared for.” Yes, under His care it becomes our way of life. Orians continues, “Abiding in him so that he can tend to my imperfections is a gift. There is immense mercy shown in trimming what can be fruitful, instead of disregarding it. It is care to the highest extent.”
I’m grateful for His gift of new perspective (Psalm 16:7-8). He has helped me see my need and focus on His faithful care. His pruning is quite likely an answer to my own prayers (2 Thessalonians 1:11). I am convinced that I prefer He tend rather than neglect—and even in this, a flaw in my thinking has been pruned away.
For the LORD is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations (Psalm 100:5).
If you enjoyed this post I recommend a previous post, Three Lessons from the Field, which includes other comforting reassurances from Jesus’s metaphor, “You are God’s field (1 Corinthians 3:9).
In browsing my photo library recently, I discovered I have taken a lot of photos of purple flowers this year. I was surprised because the majority of them were taken in our garden, and I didn’t realize we had so many purple blossoms! The color is sometimes difficult to photograph—it’s almost like the camera doesn’t know quite what to do with purple. Sometimes it looks pinker than the flower I see with my own eyes. Sometimes it frames up bluer. Occasionally it’s more of a reddish purple. Nevertheless, I’m really pleased with my discovery, and my surprise in their beauty is what initially set me on this pathway to share.
As I sorted through the photos, I discovered something else. Gazing at purple for that length of time gave me a tranquil, dreamy feeling. It was just a hint of something mysterious or otherworldly. Along with it, I sensed a slight shift somewhere inside. I’m going to call it a quiet openness. This was another surprise. I wonder if as you browse this post…will purple have the same impact on you? Often purple is used as an accent in the garden—a little here and a little there—so this gallery might also be your first opportunity to observe something similar.
These surprises I felt evolved into feelings of wonder and awe.
Wonder and awe—we often use these terms in much the same way. They both spring from looking at a phenomenon and responding with amazement and worshipful adoration over something so remarkable we cannot fathom what we’re seeing. In spite of this commonality, there are some differences between wonder and awe which are best clarified in how they energize us.
Wonder manifests like a raised hand. It inspires me to ask and prompts me to explore and learn more.
In contrast, awe behaves like a lamp. It inspires me to step back and gaze and kindles a yearning to show off what I’ve discovered.
Prompted by wonder I researched all sorts of things about the color purple, from its history and symbolism to how it best enhances a garden. My most impactful discovery was the mention of purple in Scripture. It is most often mentioned in the book of Exodus, in reference to the colors in the tabernacle—the curtains, the veil, and the priests’ garments. The tabernacle was constructed using specific instructions given to Moses by God with a command to follow the pattern He gave (Exodus 25:9). The pattern is a copy of heavenly things (Hebrews 8:5) and it was eloquent with rich symbolism.
The instructions involving purple were given and carried out most often as a triad of colors—blue, purple, and scarlet, and always in that particular order. For example, Exodus 26:36 says, “For the entrance to the tent make a curtain of blue, purple, and scarlet yarn and finely twisted linen—the work of an embroiderer.”
Symbolically, blue represented heaven, because as people looked at the skies they were reminded of God’s glory and divinity, His overarching presence. It pointed to Christ’s origin. Purple was a symbol of royalty, wealth, or position, because of the very costly means of processing purple dye, which only kings or the very wealthy could access. Red was a symbol of earth because of the ruddy color of man. It was also a symbol of sacrifice.
The tabernacle points us to the reality of Christ who came to us on earth from heaven and made the ultimate sacrifice (Romans 5:8; 1 Peter 3:18). He obeyed for us, died for us (Philippians 2:8-11; Hebrews 2:10), and was raised for us (Romans 4:25). In this, God has given Him all authority (Ephesians 1:20-21; Matthew 28:18). Purple in the middle, as it always is between blue and red, illustrates how Christ Jesus stands between us and our Heavenly Father. Because of Jesus’ sacrifice, He is the way, the only way we can approach God—we have no other means (John 14:6; Hebrews 5:9).
Jesus’ position reveals another heavenly reality, which feels very personal but is true for all who believe. As the Father looks at me, because of how Jesus obeyed perfectly for me, He sees in me the perfect righteousness of Christ (2 Corinthians 5:21; Romans 3:23-25). I can approach the Father because of Christ (Hebrews 4:14-16) and the Father welcomes me because of Christ (Luke 15:7; John 6:40, 17:24). All the benefits of faith are available through Christ (John 1:12), and He lives to intercede for me before the Father (Hebrews 7:25). What glorious truth, worthy of trust and full acceptance!
My young grandsons sometimes ask, “Grandmommy, what’s your favorite color?” I have a new answer!
And awe? Prompted by awe, I got lost in perusing all the purple, beholding the different shades and seeing how the flowers accessorized in the context in which they grew, how they composed in their space, and how they were influenced by the lighting. Awe induced me to put them on display in some fashion, not simply their purple magnificence, but ultimately as a means of pointing to God the Creator—proclaiming His handiwork, my joy in it, and inviting you my readers to enjoy.
Awe also bid me give words to my delight, which I share in closing:
I praise you Lord for the splendor of the work of Your hands!
It declares Your glory; it bears witness, manifesting Your unfathomable creative powers.
In it I acknowledge Your loftiness and my creatureliness—
You summon my delight; You stir up the gifts of wonder and awe;
I’m drawn closer as my soul is prompted to adore, to ask, and to proclaim.
In the splendor of Your work, I savor Your presence—a knowing that we are together, and I want more;
It entrusts me to Your greater revelation, Your Word that is our life.
There I marvel at the outpouring of Your life-giving Fatherly love.
Praise to the Lord for His beautiful creation!
*I’m grateful for Brené Brown and her book, Atlas of the Heart, Mapping Meaningful Connection and the Language of Human Experience, which has influenced my understanding of wonder and awe. This book has been valuable in helping me better understand the gift of emotions.
Seeing those little green tips emerge from the ground thrills me every spring. Here in my garden, it’s the signal that Daffodils or Hostas are coming to life. They are welcome harbingers, issuing forth that anticipatory sign that the season is changing and warmer weather is really returning.
This year the daffodil tips broke ground the week of Christmas, and began blooming the first week in March. I could see them from the breakfast room window. You can probably imagine what I did most every day during that 10-week period. Yes, I would peek out the window to check on them, wondering how they would manage in the cold, the ice, and the seemingly unending periods of rain. I would imagine how they were going to look in bloom.
Now the Hostas, are emerging, and again, I’m enchanted.
Part of my fascination with them is that one day I seeing nothing, and the next day there’s something mysteriously coming forth, something fresh — a verdant green that contrasts with the faded mulch and dried dead leaves. While I was unaware, in the hard, cold, dark earth, plenty was going on, a glorious work. The emerging shoots are evidence of that unseen process.
Let me pause to ask – have you ever cut open a daffodil or tulip bulb and looked inside? If not, get an onion or garlic clove, which are similar to flower bulbs, and cut one from top to bottom. Flower bulbs also have those white outer layers seen in the onion or garlic and the green shoot you see in the middle when it’s aged a bit. The white outer layers are filled with food the new plant will need to grow. That little greenish shoot in the center is the flower and leaves, already formed, that will emerge from the ground. Everything for the blooming season is already developed and stored in the bulb, flowers and all!
After they bloom each year, the remaining greenery uses photosynthesis to build up the energy stores that will enable them to bloom the following year. When the foliage turns to yellow and brown, the energy moves down into the bulb. As they prepare for a time of dormancy in the winter, new bulbs are produced and they grow roots to take in water. As the temperature drops and the days grow shorter, the bulbs know it’s time to rest. Hormones are produced that tell them when to start growing again, and they use the stored energy to push the leaves and flowers up through the ground. Although Hostas aren’t true bulbs, they too have that period of dormancy and save energy in their crown for the next growing season.
I’m stunned by the magnificence of the biological process. I’m drawn to worship as it speaks to me of the One who has designed it all. Yet there’s more here to discern than the biological process; there are some treasures to mine, and in the darkest part of my year, these fresh green shoots are just the visual I need.
They exhibit for me that God is at work even when I can’t see it. When I feel I’m in a dark time, there is a work taking place. Like in a bulb, the nature of the work in my heart requires it be unseen, but with time His handiwork becomes evident. Moreover, I cannot look to external circumstances and appearances to gauge reality. I am encouraged, in faith, to focus my thoughts on God, His nature and His promises, and believe on Him as my only reliable resource for truth. Faith is “… the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1).”
The emerging tips also stir feelings of hope. They give me reason to expect the growth and beauty that will follow. My spirits are lifted as they prompt me to look forward with anticipation of what is to come. These hints of what’s ahead whisper to me of our ultimate hope in Christ. It is a hope that will not disappoint (Romans 5:5), for through Christ’s resurrection we obtain an inheritance that’s incorruptible, reserved in heaven, and kept by the power of God through faith (I Peter 1:3-5).
Their emergence from the ground makes me wonder how they were able to push up through the soil and layers of mulch, why they came up so fresh and clean and green after pushing through dirt, and why they don’t freeze. I notice that sometimes a cluster of tips will lift a clump of packed mulch or a single tip may slice through a dead leaf as it grows. In all of this, they inspire me to persevere and rely on God for strength. He provides all they need to thrive. As my heavenly Father I trust He will do the same for me (2 Peter 1:3).
“O Lord Your lovingkindness is so abundant towards us! These visuals you provide in nature are a means to rehearse your truth and reflect on Your character, to meditate on Your promises and lean into Your presence. Build in us a faith that pleases You and provides the hope of this inheritance. Thank You for Your mercy and for providing all we need for life and godliness.”
I dedicate this post to the memory of a dear follower of Tarry There who passed into the loving arms of Christ since my last post. Donna loved Jesus and like me, enjoyed His presence in the garden. I’ve been told she had many Hostas in her garden! I know her faith has become sight and look forward to conversations with her in the gardens of the new earth.
I grew up on a small farm in South Carolina, and there were fields on three sides of our house. Truly the fourth side, our front yard, was pretty much a field as well; it was just cared for with a lawn mower instead of a tractor.
As kids we worked in those fields way too often for our taste. Every spring we set out plants, and then hoed the rows and picked vegetables all summer. The fields were also our playground. We built play houses with the green bean stakes, collected mud to make pottery, sleuthed animal tracks (and their droppings), and had dirt clod fights with plywood shields that my older brother made.
The fields became a byway of sorts. We tromped through them to get to other places of adventure, usually the woods, but also Eleazer’s little store or my grandparents’ house. My Aunt Jean lived with my grandparents and was a nurserywoman, so her fields were dedicated to shrubbery and flowers. I remember even before I started school, I would slip down the path to be with her. We would collect dirt from the woods and sift it through wooden frames with wire mesh bottoms to filter out roots and hard fragments. As time passed, her field closest to our house contained rows of boxwood where we played hide and seek with our cousins.
All kinds of childhood memories took place in a field, so when I read these words in 1 Corinthians, I stopped and reread them several times. In the middle of the ninth verse of Chapter 3, I read, “You are God’s field.”
I don’t remember ever reading that before.
“You are God’s field… ” (1 Corinthians 3:9). I am God’s field! I found “field” can also be translated as garden or vineyard.
“O Lord, these are exciting words for me! I know what happens in fields and gardens! You have immersed me in gardening adventures for years and given me a square foot garden of my own for over three decades, so my experiences cry out to me of the riches to be discovered in this metaphor. Let’s stay with this verse awhile. As I tarry there, walk with me in the furrows and delight me with Your truth.”
The first lesson is that “You are God’s garden,” implies possession. It says to me that I am His! This is true in the sense that I was created by God (Psalm 100:3), my body fashioned and knit together by His hands (Psalm 119:73, 139:13). It’s also true in that through repentance and faith in Him, Christ has redeemed me, forgiven my sin, and has adopted me into His family (Ephesians 1:5-7).
And second, since I am God’s garden, this indicates that He is my Gardener! (I do remember reading that before, in John 15:1).
This speaks to me in a deep place as I recall what gardeners do. I picture my mom pouring over seed catalogs and my dad coming home with tomato plants he had purchased. I can envision him on his tractor pulling the disc harrow topped with cement blocks so it will cut deep into the ground. I remember us setting out many rows of tomato plants and watching little beans and okra and corn seedlings emerge from the ground. I hear the sound of Aunt Jean’s sprinklers watering huge areas. Recalling the earthy fragrance and humid warmth of her greenhouse, I retrace how cuttings were rooted, misted, and nurtured in trays before they were potted. I see my own hands as they wage war against the attack of beetles that would devour my green beans. And, gracious, the delight in the gardens and the boasting? From start to finish it never ended!
God has a plan for me just as my parents did for their fields. He cultivates and waters (John 4:13-14; Isaiah 55:1, 58:11), just as I saw our family do. With tender care He nurtures and trains me. As Aunt Jean used her pruning shears, He prunes as needed to bring about my growth (John 15:2). As I’ve labored to do in my own garden, He protects me and provides for me, doing all that’s necessary for me to be fruitful. Like all gardeners I’ve observed, He takes delight all along the way (Psalm 18:19, 35:27, Jeremiah 32:41).
The third lesson? I discovered some comforting reassurances in this metaphor of God’s field. Since gardens require cultivation to eventually produce according to a gardener’s plan, I grasp that this is very true of me too. I’m unable to take root, mature, or be fruitful by myself — I need the Gardener to foster my growth. Not only that, He doesn’t expect me grow by my own meager effort (John 15:5). Heknows I need cultivation. He will nurture and tend, and lovingly provide all I need as I abide in Him (John 15:7-8).
I’ve seen too that both plants and gardens have phases when they seem unproductive, even unpleasing to the eye. Every phase is an important step in reaching maturity, which takes time. Furthermore, each stage is assigned its own purpose and place in time. This reassures me as I experience these seasons. I know they aren’t unprofitable, they aren’t inappropriate, nor are they useless (Romans 8:28). Knowing my Gardener, I can embrace these seasons as appointed and necessary times. They are valuable in His sight!
“Thank You my Heavenly Gardener for Your truth and these lessons from Your fields. I am comforted knowing that my cultivation is in Your hand, all my times are in Your hand (Psalm 31:14-15), and You delight in the stages of my development (Psalm 147:11). I am blessed at a deeper level in knowing You in this new way. It helps me to receive Your tender care, even the pruning away of striving and notions of self-reliance, that I may rest more quietly in Your timing and appointed seasons. As I share these lessons from the field, I pray my readers will also know You in a new way and receive Your blessings and comfort.”
The beautiful vegetable garden photo in this post was taken by a new friend and used with her permission. She and her husband also let me roam their farm and take photos for this post. The field in the feature photo, all the grapevines, and the farm equipment were taken there. I’m grateful for their hospitality and the delight of sharing old memories with new friends.
This has definitely been a year for trying new things. Learning how to launch and write this blog has been my primary new thing. Another has been learning about and experimenting with macro photography. Macro is a form of photography that gets very close-up images of a small subject or small parts of the subject. Often the photo is so close that observers may not know what was actually photographed since the details revealed aren’t those normally seen. I’m enamored with these up-close images. I find the details are so dramatic, they are informative, and they’re always wonder inducing! Here’s a little gallery of some of my favorites.
Playing with macro is how I discovered the gorgeous details of poinsettia flowers. They are beautiful plants. I confess when they show up for the Christmas season, my perspective has been influenced by my inability over the years to keep them looking nice for very long. But studying them up-close has transformed how I view them.
All the pretty red display that we normally think of as the flower are really specialized leaves, called bracts. They put on a marvelous display! They’re the first thing we see, right? It’s these bracts that get the attention of the pollinators too, calling out, “Hey, come over and take a look!” They offer up an invitation to come to the flower.
Drawing closer, down in the center of the bracts, the real flowers are clustered in the “bull’s eye” of the display. They are contained in little green structures called cyathia.
To me they look like little bouquets bursting forth, sporting red stems and yellowish pollen. The most striking feature though are the little goblets or cup-like structures. These cups contain nectar, the real desire of all the pollinators. Notice they start out looking like little lips and then swell to open into urn-shaped cups. Though tiny, the cups are relatively quite large compared to the flowers in the cyathia. They are full to the brim, some overflowing! Pollinators are invited to the cups, a source of life and sustenance for them.
Focusing on those brimming full cups of nectar brought to mind another cup, the one that “runneth over,” in Psalm 23.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
Psalm 23:5
What a rich and profoundly satisfying expression. It speaks of all sorts of blessing. The metaphor conveys not only God’s protection, favor, and provision, but also His intimate presence, and His delight in our company. Can you picture this – an abundant feast prepared by the God of all creation who then showers us with His favor and presence, all while our enemies look on? His invitation is to abundant life, and is expressed throughout Scripture.
For example, in Revelation, we read that Jesus stands at the door and knocks. For anyone who hears His voice and opens the door, what will he do? He says in Revelation 3:20, “I will come in to him and dine with him and he with Me.”
Or in these beautiful verses from Isaiah we read,
“Come everyone who thirsts, come to the waters. And he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, And your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, And delight yourselves in rich food.
Incline your ear, and come to me; Hear that your soul may live; And I will make you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David.”
Isaiah 55:1-3
God implores us to incline our ears and hear the words of invitation. Hear, that our souls may live! “Come!”
We read Christ’s words in John 7:37. “On the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.’” My study Bible says this about the three action verbs in this verse — thirst, come, and drink.
“These three words summarize the gospel invitation. A recognition of need leads to an approach to the source of provision, followed by receiving what is needed.”
John MacArthur
I’m thankful for this invitation. It is the Lord’s grand invitation, the good news of God’s plan put in place before time began. Jesus stated it simply, yet His invitation is so profound it will be studied and wondered at forever. In concert with the invitation to receive eternal life, I’ve discovered it’s also His invitation to an abundant daily life.
“Carole Lynn no matter your need. In your loneliness today, in your weakness and helplessness, in your striving, in your longings and desires, in your grief, pain, or failure, in battling against shame and fear, in your wandering from Me, in your living and in your dying, come. Come close. I am with you, I am your strength, I am your satisfaction, I am your provision, I am your comfort and joy, I am your deliverer, I am your shield and defense, I am your helper, I am your peace, I am your way, I am your life. I am your cup. I am.”
His word overflows with these truths. It is indeed an everyday gospel to which I must return over and over as a bee would to nectar. It is overflowing, life-giving, and life sustaining.*
“Thank You Father for Your invitation that calls out to us throughout Your Word. You say listen – oh, give ears to hear. You say come — give willing hearts. You say receive – give us faith over fear and repentance instead of rebellion. Let us learn to see our need as Your invitation to draw near, that our souls may delight in Your abundance. May we experience You as our most satisfying treasure in the day to day of our journey on earth.”
*My I am verses: Isaiah 41:10; Psalm 138:3; Psalm 63:3-5; 2 Corinthians 9:8; Matthew 5:4; Psalm 16:11; Colossians 1:13-14; Psalm 18:1-3; Psalm 121:1-2; Psalm 55:18; John 14:6; Psalm 73:24-26.
As usual, there was so much more I wanted to say. If you are interested in more content on this theme of the cup for your own meditation or to share with your small group, please reach out to me using the Contact Me form.
If you, like me, need help in caring for your poinsettia, try this page at The Spruce for their good advice.
I was once asked, “If you came into your family room and Jesus was sitting on the sofa, where would you sit?”
I answered with silence, thinking it over…
“Would you climb into His lap?”
Needing more time, I asserted that if Jesus came to visit me in person, He wouldn’t be on the sofa, but would likely slip into the garden and sit on our bench.
“I believe I would sit at His feet.” That was my first thought. It seemed like a good option. I was thinking of Martha’s sister Mary in Luke 10:39. It’s where one would sit to receive wisdom from a revered teacher, to look up and wonder at their words. Plus, it suggests I intend to stay put and let everything else go.
After a couple of years, this question still makes its way into my thoughts. It’s been lingering, prodding me to reflect further. I accept many fell flat on their faces when they encountered the Lord (Luke 5:8, Revelation 1:17). Overcome with fear, or in worship, or in desperate supplication, they immediately fell down to acknowledge and yield to His holiness and power. Would climbing into Jesus lap even be an option? Would it be presumptuous or overly familiar?
This year, two things have shaped my thinking on this. In my morning walks along the trail and on bike rides at the beach during the summer, I found myself veering to move out of the way of vines growing out into the trail. They had what seemed to be unusually long tendrils, reaching out to seek a support. Tendrils like these find their supportive host by touch. Once a supportive host is located, chemical reactions cause them to curl and wrap around the support, creating a coil. As the coil ages it becomes woodier and provides a rigid, lasting support for the plant.
I took note of how well designed these tendrils are for clinging. They reach out and take hold with a grasp that permanently changes their form and character. This clinging allows them to receive what they need. If they don’t cling, they cannot carry out their role. These long, in-my-face tendrils were a prompt to consider God’s design for us. Our need can only be satisfied in the One who is our Deliverer and Sustainer (Psalm 18:2, Isaiah 46:4). As we reach out to Him, He is the One who takes our hand and secures us in His hold, so that we won’t slip or stumble (Psalm 63:8). He says cling to Him alone (Joshua 23:8). The tighter and longer we hold on, the more we are transformed into His likeness. In truth, we can do nothing without Him.
I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.
John 15:5
Also influencing my thinking is Genesis 45, which tells how Joseph reveals himself to his brothers. After hearing that this powerful ruler is Joseph, the brothers are terrified because they’ve been exposed. Joseph is quite alive! In verse 4, he says to them, “Come close to me.” After all the evil they had done to him, he calls them near. He wants them to draw near. Calling them close signifies relationship – they are His brothers (Genesis 45:4). It expresses forgiveness – he holds no malice. As they draw close, Joseph desires to alleviate their distress by pointing out that God Himself sent him before them to Egypt to preserve life (Gen. 45:5-8). In this intimate conversation, Joseph demonstrates his power and desire to bless them (Gen. 45:10-11). His love for them creates a safe place for them to draw near (Gen. 45:14-15).
Joseph’s love is a good model of Christ’s love for me, for us. In His tenderness, Jesus asks us to draw near. He wants us near Him, close like a child, close enough for intimate directness, so we can hear and understand. We can draw close because it’s safe. Just as with Joseph, the Lord’s power is used to save His loved ones and give life. Like Joseph, Christ has gone ahead of us to bring about a great deliverance. He says He will provide; He says don’t be afraid. Come close, don’t tarry (Genesis 45:9).
If sitting at His feet suggests the posture of an eager hearer, and falling at His feet is a posture of fearful reverence, what would climbing into His lap suggest? I believe it would express a childlike abandon of absolute trust and a sheer joy and delight in seeing Him. I think it would also indicate a close, intimate relationship already exists. As I look forward to seeing Him with my own eyes, I yearn for this kind of faith.
“O Lord, help us grow in our trust of You, so that like those in-your-face tendrils along the path, we reach out with joyful abandon. May we not hold back, but even now come close. Hold us tight, keep us secure in Your hold as we cling to You, that we may be forever changed.”
This refrain from an old hymn comes to mind. Tarry a few minutes to listen and enjoy.
I will arise and go to Jesus,
He will embrace me in His arms;
In the arms of my dear Savior,
Oh, there are ten thousand charms.
Joseph Hart 1759
I’m excited to let you know my resource page is underway! You can find it here or in the drop down Menu by selecting In the Tool Shed. I started with some of my favorite books in the Walk of Faith and Gardening sections. I’ll add a Destination/Events section and continue to update. Let me know you if you have suggestions!
As the season has changed to fall, we’ve experienced shorter days, some cooler temperatures, and a good drenching of rain. As it poured, I peered through the storm door several times to search for hints of color or any visuals that autumn had arrived, but there were none. After the rainy days, we ventured out for some birding at Latta Plantation Nature Preserve. The only leaves showing fall color were a couple of red-tinged dogwood trees. But there were other signs of fall I savored, especially the aroma. Likely from all the grasses and wildflowers, it smelled like fall! It also sounded like fall. The insects were buzzing rhythmically, and the birds were conversant and darting about in small flocks. The lighting was lazy and the atmosphere seemed different. We walked the Hill Trail and lingered in different spots, listening.
For me, fall usually starts out as a rude interruption. With sadness I remember the summer warmth and all the outdoor fun, our backyard gatherings, my garden, the flowers, our beach trips, and the long hours of sunlight. I peer into the distance, see the harshness of winter is coming, and consider the passing of time and my own preparedness for what may come. On this day I wanted to move past the bump and embrace the season! In this beautiful setting I began to relax, and that fall feeling I had been looking for came, peacefully descending on me in a spirit of trust.
There on the hill, listening for the call of birds and hearing the rustle of the tall grasses, I thought of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem, “The Autumn.” It begins this way:
Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them —
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.
Wow — I do like this opening stanza! I like her imperative to “Go.” Browning instructs us to take our lesson on a hill, where we just sit. We are to look around, taking it in, being still. I appreciate too the way she conveys what she hears. The woods and the waters “hymn an autumn sound.” She invites us to hear them singing a song of praise. Then she addresses our heart, our musing heart. Muse means to reflect deeply on a subject, so she’s acknowledging our need to meditate. The poem continues:
How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.
Yes! Browning takes us back to the place we’ve been during the summer and says to tarry there again. She acknowledges we often remember and compare our experience now with what we had before. Reading through the remaining stanzas, Browning compares the changes in the wind and woods as symbolic of the transitions in our lives, and gives us a way to move on. (I hope you’ll hang on for the end.)
Oh! Like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, —
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind — view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill —
In spring, the sky encircled them —
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold —
Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.
Here in the last stanza Browning tells us once we’ve acknowledged those things that grieve us in life’s transitions, we can now change our focus. She tells us to “look out.” We’re exhorted to redirect our focus over the valleys and hills to the sky that encircles. The sky’s still there just as it was before! The scathe of the season, the harshness we see and feel, that sense of being out of control — Heaven is still over all!
Oh reader, God is still with us! In these seemingly desolate times as we grieve so many changes and long for what was, let us lift our eyes to Heaven’s throne. For “The Lord has established His throne in the Heavens, and His kingdom rules over all (Psalm 103:19).” There is nothing He does not rule over! There is no time He does not rule over (Psalm 31:15). Nations and kings are in His hands (Psalm 47:8-9). He is almighty (Deuteronomy 10:17), and nothing is difficult for Him (Jeremiah 32:27). The Lord is able to deliver (2 Kings 17:39) and preserves all who love Him (John 10:29). He is able to do exceedingly abundantly more than we ask or think (Ephesians 3:20).
“Oh Lord, we lift our eyes to the hills, but our help comes from You, maker of Heaven and earth. You will not allow our foot to slip, for You are our keeper; You preserve our going out and coming in – even our souls! Close the door of our minds to questions about Your sovereignty or Your good and kind intentions. For You are righteous in all Your ways and gracious in all Your works. You are trustworthy, performing all that You have promised. Keep us O Lord, I pray.”*
If you are on this journey of faith with the One true God, go, sit again where you’ve been with Him before. Meditate on His promises and seek Him. Fan the flame of your hope (Psalm 62:5). He does restore our souls (Psalm 23:3)! With each reminder of who He is, be thrilled all over again. Be encouraged that he has enabled you to persevere. Delight in who He wants to be for you in this season. Tell about Him and all His wonders (Psalm 9:1-2)!
This prayer includes verses from Psalm 121 and 145. Other Psalms I’ve found very helpful in times of transition are Psalm 103 and 116. In each of these the Psalmist is speaking to his own soul. He defeats discouragement and unbelief by remembering the truth about God’s nature and His kind intentions.
I’ve published a new page called Interesting Finds! It contains a collection of recent discoveries that caught my eye and brought fresh joy in God’s creativity. Enjoy browsing! The page can be found on the menu dropdown, so as you come back to the site, take a look for new finds.
Around 25 years ago, I saw a counselor on staff at our church for a while. I think back on it as a sweet season. Judy’s joy in the Lord and her love for Him were manifested in the way that Scripture was woven into the living and breathing of her daily life. She was eager to be fed and nourished by it, and I was attracted to this devotion and wanted to emulate her! I still recall particular verses we discussed that helped me learn not to look elsewhere for help, but to go to the Lord first, trust Him, and watch Him work (Isaiah 50:10-11, 31:1).
What I remember most from our visits, though, was a kind action on her part that spoke to my heart and impacted all our visits thereafter. I was usually her first appointment of the day and we met in a large, chilly room with cinder block walls. One morning as I came in and sat down (infant in tow) I noticed immediately that the space felt comfortable, maybe even toasty! I realized she had placed a space heater near my chair.
Judy had noticed how cold-natured I am, had procured a heater, and had come in early to warm up my space. I felt deeply touched by this simple act. This may be because, well … if you’re cold natured like me, you’ve probably discovered people enjoy poking fun at you about it. She had taken what others might find as opportunity for jest and used it instead as an occasion to render compassionate service.
My heart interpreted it to mean she knew me well, she knew what would make a difference in my time with her, and she cared enough to act on it. I liked being known! I liked that she prepared a place for me! I felt loved and affirmed. It was a tender act, evoking a tender response. Her kindness also favorably impacted my counseling sessions because it issued in a deeper level of trust that opened the door for me to be more transparent.
My heart experienced this same tender response a few weeks ago; it was when I happened across Genesis 2:8.
And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and there he put the man whom He had formed.
Genesis 2:8
I thought, “Oh Lord, you knew us, your handiwork, before you formed us. In Your lovingkindness you prepared a special place for us, curated to meet all our needs; You planted it yourself!”
I like that Scripture reveals “the Lord God” planted it. Knowing what’s involved with planting a garden, I tried to imagine what that process would look like—the timing, specifics, and His intent in the design. What sort of environment would man need to thrive? In what kind of dwelling place could they learn all He had for them? In what setting would they come to know the Lord as they lingered with Him and experienced His goodness? Where would they best gain knowledge of His plan for them and understand their roles and responsibilities?
God’s answer was a garden. The Lord prepared a habitation with all they needed; the perfect dwelling place, ordained to manifest His love. It was very good. (Genesis 1:31)
The garden was in a particular geographical location: Eden, in the east. A river flowed out of Eden to water it (Genesis 2:8, 10). God provided both beauty and nourishment in His garden. He made every tree grow that is pleasant to the sight and good for food (Genesis 2:9).
The garden provided work for man; he was to tend and keep it (Genesis 2:15).
It was a place for man to learn to reason and discern. The Lord brought the animals and birds to Adam to see what he would call them. Whatever Adam called each living creature, that became its name (Gen. 2:19).
It was the environment where the first couple experienced God’s presence. He was there with them. He instructed them and gave them purpose (Genesis 1:28, 2:17).
“I’m grateful for Your word, Lord, that reveals to us who You are and how You made ready for us. Thank You that this whole realm of nature still speaks of You. No wonder we are drawn to the therapeutic benefits of a hike or a stroll through a garden! They are still physical and tangible places where we can see and smell, hear, touch, and taste of Your glory. And in gardens, we can still commune with You, receive guidance from You, and experience Your presence. I wonder at nature’s indescribable beauty, remarkable details, and consider who You are—a God who knows us and loves us, and who has perfectly prepared and provided for us.”
