Sowing

Some days, I'm sure we're getting it all wrong.

After all, surely if we were doing it right, we would be getting better results.

But some days I'm sure that I'm just looking too soon, focusing too small, analyzing too intensely. Some days I'm sure that right now, right here, I need to stop asking, "Where's the fruit?" and just ask once again, "Did I sow well, Lord?"

Some days the seeds that were planted were ugly ones. And on those days, I repent, I hold hands in my own, I look deep into eyes, I ask for forgiveness, and I pray, "God, let the seeds of this day be ones of repentance and humility and restoration."

But always, always, always: "God, let me sow today,"

and

"God, let everything that was sown in the Spirit go deep, and let everything that was sown of the flesh be washed away."

I am simply the farmer, tilling the ground, planting the seeds, watering when I can, holding my breath at times, wondering if I got it all wrong many times, certain I haven't done enough all the time.

But God gives the increase.

And I can trust Him.

Sowing nearness

 

Sowing knowledge

Sowing friendship

Sowing acceptance

Sowing energy

Sowing guidance

Sowing love

spring comes

Spring has crept into our lives this year, halting, uncertain, stunted.

And yet I find my breath taken away by the signs of growth and green and lush that I see with each new day.

It has continued to be cold-- far colder than usual springs-- and I've thought at moments that surely nothing can come to life, nothing new can be born, in such conditions.

And yet spring has come. The buds are there on my forsythia, late for certain but tenacious and bright nonetheless.

The chicks that arrived two and half weeks ago, little balls of delightful, chirping softness, are growing and pecking and making their presence more and more known.

Daniel is busy at work today trying to get their permanent home built. He has been slowed at every turn by rain and just the plain old busyness of life, but he is doing his best and today is promising. In a strange turn of providence, it's too cold to move our tiny chickens out of doors yet anyway, so at least we haven't had a problem there.

With spring comes outdoor clean up, which my own growing brood is able to help with more and more each year. The amount of sand that crept off the road and into our yard this year was excessive, if I do say so. I'm glad for the help of these wonderful kids and I love seeing them learning to work hard. It's good for us to use our hands and energy.

Baby Oliver has gotten to take naps out in the warm spring sun on a few days here and there. He loves his stroller and will sit for an hour while I work in the gardens, preparing the soil and making room for the shoots that are bravely making their arrival.

And an unexpected gift this spring is the presence of a bird's nest in our very own playhouse. As if that wasn't enough, just today Bronwyn sang through the house the announcement of tiny blue eggs, so beautiful and fragile and wonderful.

So, yes, spring is slow, but she comes-- even when it seems she may never be able to come at all. We welcome the rain, seeing it turn the grass greener right before our very eyes. We endure the chill, reminding ourselves and one another that summer will come.

And we enjoy these days, these spring days. We spread the table with a bright tablecloth, arrange yellow tulips where we can enjoy them the most, fire up the grill even if we have to wear spring jackets just to stand outside for a few short minutes while the hot dogs cook, and we let the sun stream in through windows and onto our shoulders and faces, determined to soak up all that we possibly can.