Tender Fields of Grace

     The impatiens looked at each other with satisfaction. Bunched together in full array, they created quite a spectacle. The pretty in pink, the deep-royal purple, the bright-neon orange, together with the pure glorious white, made a luscious picture in this shady corner of the yard. They swayed together, chattering as one in their comfort zone in the shade. Life was good.

In the center garden, however, the parched flowers hung listlessly in the still of the noonday sun.  The large heads of the hydrangea, the stems of the daisies and the sweet aster drooped with thirst. They did not have the energy to look up or to encourage one another. They had lost their sense of beauty. They had lost all strength. Even their roots felt the drought.

Near the back fence, the fertile plot stood ready for anything.  The compost heap had eventually turned into this rich soil, eager to accept new seed, to be filled with something new.

Weeds were flourishing everywhere. They were hidden between the full set of impatiens in the shade. They stood in full view among the fading blooms in the center garden, tall and strong even through this succession of long, dry days. And there they were, low to the ground, perched and waiting. They found the first spots in the fertile ground, ready to spoil the success of any new seed.

The tenant came through the garage door and noticed a stray branch hanging from the large ash tree in the corner. He returned to the garage for a tool and a ladder and cut the wandering branch away.

A brilliant light suddenly shone on the comfort zone of the impatiens in the corner. The impatiens had never experienced a light such as this. In the comfort of their shady spot, they could never have imagined they were missing anything at all, certainly nothing like this. To think there had been something so magnificent just waiting to shine on them and through them.

As the keeper of the garden moved back to the yard after putting away his tools, he noticed the sad looking garden in the center. Back he went again, to fetch a bucket. He went slowly back and forth, pouring bucket after bucket of cool water over and over the parched flowers, until their heads, once again, turned to the sky. Their thirsty roots were filled with the living water that gives strength and hope and health to their weary bodies.

He strolled toward the back of the yard. The readiness of the soil caught his attention. He moved one more time to the garage and pulled out several seed packets.

He scattered them around the garden, imagining the wildflowers rising up in their various colors and forms, scattering more seed as they grew. Eventually these few seeds would scatter and move farther and farther along this back fence to create an even more bountiful harvest of color. Spreading seeds here and there can bring an amazing harvest to the patient gardener.

He pulled a few weeds as he walked back around the yard. He soon realized there would be no way to yank them all out. He would continue working a little bit at a time over the next few weeks. He guessed there would always be weeds poking around here and there.

He stood, surveying the yard with a practiced eye.  The master would be pleased. The pruned tree looked much better and the amount of sunlight on the impatiens would only help them shine brighter for the master. He had almost lost some flowers in the center garden. What if they had died and the master would never have seen them? He caught them just in time and now just look at them!

The master had shared with him the dream for the large area in the back. He visualized it in full harvest, not as it was now, but as it would be one day. And now the time just might be right to sow those seeds.  The master would help with the weeds. He always had a vision and an answer.

How is your garden growing?

Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times. Mark 4:8