The garden has come and gone.  Day after hot, humid day I stood in the kitchen, scalding, blanching, peeling, seeding, chopping, mixing, packing, freezing, pickling, preserving and canning.  After an hour or more in the garden, followed by six hours of standing in the kitchen, my back ached, my feet throbbed, and I had a knot between my shoulders blades.  Then the next day I got up and did it again.  In the evenings we shelled and snapped until midnight or our hands ached too much to continue, whichever came first. 

            So why did I do it?  Because it had to be done.  This is one way we manage not only to survive on what we make, but to eat fairly well in spite of what we make.  This is how we fed two teenage boys and remained financially solvent.  And it wasn’t all bad.

            Some days I managed to do a lot of meditating while I worked.  When you must do the same action over and over, like peeling four hundred tomatoes, it becomes automatic, so you can use your mind for better things, pondering recent lessons you have heard, drawing conclusions from verses you have read, and praying through some of the problems that beset you. 

            Keith helped me out.  I am not quite what I used to be, and the live-in help left quite a few years ago.  We cannot “chat” over our work as most couples can.  Sometimes I touched his arm to get his attention so I could tell him something I thought important.  Other times he spoke (since I don’t have to see to hear) and then I could reply when he looked up.  Once or twice we got into a friendly competition.  He still cannot fill a jar as quickly as I can—his hands are bigger and not as well trained, but what he could do still meant jars I did not have to fill myself.  And even after forty-one years, or more probably because of them, it was pleasant to be together.

            The other day Lucas said something like, “Isn’t it funny how we look forward to the garden starting, and then near the end look forward to it ending?”  And he is right—except for the peppers, things are nearly at an end, and I am glad.  Still, at the end of each day’s work the past few months, I looked on the rows of jars cooling on an old rag of a towel laid across the countertop and felt a sense of accomplishment, despite the occasional tedium, the many aches, and the pools of sweat on the floor from the rising steam in the kitchen.

            I wish you could see my pantry—twenty-three jars of tomatoes, fifteen jars of salsa, eighteen jars of dill pickles, a dozen jars each of okra dills and pickled banana pepper rings, and thirty jars of three kinds of jellies and jams.  Then open the freezer—two dozen bags of corn, twenty bags of green beans, ten bags of lima beans, eight bags of zipper cream peas, twelve quarts of tomato sauce, and eight quarts of blueberries.  The best is yet to come though, when my grocery bill totals half what it might have been and ultimately, when we eat it all.

            So maybe it was not what some might consider a “summer vacation.”  In fact, I also had a couple of days worth of testing at the eye clinic mixed in there somewhere, but it was a worthwhile venture that did us far more good than tanning at a beach might have. 

            I think living a Christian life might be the same sort of vacation.  Some days it is hard work.  Some days it is tedious.  Some days it causes us pain.  But we can make even the worst days better by meditating on the comfort in God’s word, and by talking to Him whenever we want to.  We have a spiritual family who will help bear our burdens, who will weep when we weep and rejoice when we rejoice, people who will make the bad days go quicker and the good days even happier.

            And then before you know it, it’s almost over.  But there are things we can look back on with satisfaction, unlike our friends in the world who will have so much to regret.  They will also have nothing to look forward to, while for us the best is yet to come, and aren’t we looking forward to that? 

            For all of us summer will soon turn to fall, and after that the winter.  Make sure your pantry is full.

And I heard the voice from heaven saying, Write, Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from henceforth, yes, says the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors, for their works follow with them, Rev 14:13.

Dene Ward

Keith had to have some fairly serious surgery last year and since he is 90% deaf, the doctor arranged for me to be in his hospital room as his caregiver 24/7.  He does read lips fairly well, but lip reading is not the perfect solution to the problem.  He must “fill in the blanks,” so to speak, as his mind tries to interpret the sounds his ears miss, which is most of them.  It takes a lot of concentration, and when he is tired or does not feel well, he simply cannot hear at all.  But over the years I have learned how to communicate in all the various ways, from hand signals to pantomime to pointing at people or things to carefully wording without overdoing the mouth movements or using too many words. 

            So for six days we were both away from home and wouldn’t you know it, it was the height of garden season.  When we came home I had to do it all because he couldn’t even lift more than 10 pounds for two months, let alone bend over to pick vegetables or drag hoses.  That first week was the worst.  I picked every morning, sprayed the whole garden twice, (we’re talking an 80 x 80 garden here), pulled cucumber vines covered with blight, chopped out and hauled away the old corn stalks, placed folded newspapers under 50 cantaloupes so they wouldn’t rot on the ground (a very thin-skinned variety), cleaned out weed-choked flower beds, put up both dill and red cinnamon pickles, and picked and tossed 8 five gallon buckets of squash and cucumbers that did not have the grace to stop growing while we were in the hospital!

            Of course we all know that is not going to happen.  The plants continue to grow, the blossoms continue to set, and the fruit grows far larger than you ever imagined it could.  The back field looked like a marching band had gone through throwing out big yellow saxophones as they passed.

            It works that way with children too.  I can think of dozens of things we planned to do with our boys when they were little—things we never got to.  Sometimes it was a case of no money, but sometimes we just let life get in the way.  I wrack my brain trying to remember if there was anything we planned that we actually accomplished at all!  But just like gardens, children keep on growing.  They don’t stop to wait until you have more time to spend with them, or more resources to spend on them.  They won’t wait till you get a bigger house or an easier job or a raise.  They won’t wait until your life is exactly like you want it.  If that’s what you are waiting for, it will never happen.  You have to set your own priorities and make it happen.

            Every summer I made my boys a chore list.  I am sure they remember it fondly!  No, probably not, but on that list was this:  “Play a game with mom.”  Guess which “chore” they never skipped?  Sometimes it was checkers, sometimes it was monopoly, sometimes it was even pinochle, a game they learned with some of their dad’s commentaries set up on the table to hide their hands because they were too small to hold all the cards at once.  Sometimes it was one of the board games I made to help them with their Bible knowledge.  And every day we had Bible study of some kind, whether just talking about things between the bean rows as we picked together or a formal sit down study. 

            These are just some ideas to help you along.  We have all heard the old poem “Children Don’t Wait.”  It’s true, and last summer I thought about that even more as I looked out over the overgrown garden.  Maybe my grandsons will reap a little from the repeat of a lesson that is never taught enough.

And he said unto them, Set your heart unto all the words which I testify unto you this day, which you shall command your children to observe to do, even all the words of this law. For it is no vain thing for you; because it is your life...Deut 32:46-47.

Dene Ward

            After a few years of working at it, my flower bed is now one mass of yellow every spring.  We planted a few of those daisy-style flowers known as rudbeckia several years ago and they have gradually increased over time.  The gallardia died off, the coreopsis moved to the back field, and even the “invasive” Mexican petunias have waned as the more commonly named black-eyed susans exercised dominance in the bed.  Even most of the weeds gave up.  These flowers are here to stay now, and they are gradually spreading, with just a little help from us, over other areas of the property.

            But come the end of June the stems turn gray and furry and the flower heads brown as they “go to seed.”  It’s a long couple morning’s work to pull them up and toss them out to the field southeast of the flower bed.  We’ve noticed over the years that things tend to spread to the northwest, and sure enough, if we toss things to the southeast we will get an even fuller bed the next year.  What would happen if we just left them?  Ugly, is what would happen, and that is not what flowers are for.  Something has to be done if we want them to continue to flourish.

            I’ve noticed the same about churches.  The longer you sit on your pews with no winds stirring, no rainstorms, no blight to kill off the weak plants, no insects to fight, no cultivating to uproot the weeds, the more likely you are to go to seed.  Every church needs a good stirring up once in a while if it wants to survive.  When a church starts to “go to seed,” it can get just plain ugly.

            I’ve seen a church become the property of one family, where visitors aren’t welcome and no one even thinks about reaching out to the community.  It’s just there for convenience as they “fulfill their Sunday duty.” (Amos 5:21-24)

            I’ve seen a church become so set in its ways that, while still claiming expediency, things are done in as inexpedient a way imaginable because it would upset anyone to change a tradition.  In fact, they come close to considering it a sin to even think of it. (Matt 15:7-9)

            I’ve seen a church become, not the pillar and ground of the truth, but a source of hatefulness and division.  They call it standing for the truth when it’s really just barring the doors to anyone who might need a little more help than the type of new convert they would prefer.  (I Cor 6:9-11)

            I’ve seen churches so interested in keeping peace, they sacrifice purity, or let an obstinate brother have his way, even if it hurts the mission of the church in that community, or a weaker brother. (James 3:17)

            I’ve seen so-called sound churches spout nothing but memorized catch-phrases and slogans with the requisite “proof-texts,” none of which they can explain or use in its true context.  They talk about “no creed but the Bible” while explaining to every visitor an unwritten creed of do’s and don’ts if you want to be accepted by “us.” (3 John 9,10)

            And I’ve seen many, many churches become so afraid of doing something wrong they never manage to do anything good.  (Matt 23:23,24)

            The first of July I start pulling up plants and tossing them to the southeast.  Then Keith will come along a day or two later and run the mower over those old plants to help disseminate the seeds for next year.  For a while my bed looks pathetic, but soon it will be a sea of bright yellow waving in the spring breeze once again, in fact, it will be fuller and brighter than ever.  That will only happen after I turn it upside down and inside out.  Maybe a few more churches need to do the same thing.

And the Lord said: “Because this people draw near with their mouth and honor me with their lips, while their hearts are far from me, and their fear of me is a commandment learned by rote, therefore, behold, I will again do wonderful things with this people, with wonder upon wonder; and the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the discernment of their discerning men shall be hidden,” Isa 29:13-14.

Dene Ward

 

            We have grown some of the ugliest tomatoes you have ever seen.  Some of them have lobes that distort their perfect globe shape into something that looks like a mutant in a horror show.  Some of them have brown creases.  Some are crescent shaped instead of round.  Some have “noses.” One in particular had the ski nose of a Bob Hope caricature.  Some look like Siamese Twins.  Excuse me for this but one looked like it needed a bra!  Usually they have spots of some sort—brown, black or white, depending upon what caused the spot.  Often they sport a bird peck or two.  If you were standing in a store looking at these things, you would turn away and look for something prettier without even giving them a sniff.

            And you would miss out on some of the best tasting tomatoes we have ever grown—especially the Cherokee Purples.  We usually have a platter of sliced tomatoes on the table every day during garden season, and many of those slices are far less than perfectly round.  It isn’t just the odd shapes, it’s also the bad spots we cut out.  As long as it hasn’t spread to the pulp, you can often save half or more of a wonderful tomato--sweet, juicy, slightly acidic, with a full round tomato flavor.

            And many times we stand in the “store” we call life and pick out the worst people just because of how good they look.  This lesson is as old as the hills and one of the first our children are taught.   No one thought David could possibly be the king God had in mind but he was because, “man looks on the outward appearance but God looks on the heart” 1 Sam 16:7.

              But no, we haven’t learned it any better than our children have.  We still ignore the ones who stand on the periphery, who don’t share our standard of living, who don’t speak exactly like we do, who don’t dress like we do, who certainly aren’t the good-looking extroverts everyone praises and wants to be around.  We live in a society that idolizes celebrity and we do the same in the church.  Even the preacher has to be handsome, or at least famous, or we won’t invite him for a gospel meeting.

            Israel did the same thing and look what they wound up with:

And he had a son whose name was Saul, a handsome young man. There was not a man among the people of Israel more handsome than he. From his shoulders upward he was taller than any of the people, 1Sam 9:2.

Now in all Israel there was no one so much to be praised for his handsome appearance as Absalom. From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head there was no blemish in him, 2Sam 14:25.

            Then there was Jesus.  For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him. ​He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not, Isa 53:2-3.  Do you understand that means you would have thought him plain, maybe even a little homely?  Would you have turned away from him the way you do from that one who stands off to the side at church or neighborhood or school gatherings?  Singles out there:  Does a young man or young lady have to be “hot” before you will even talk to them?

            Yep, we still stand at the tomato display looking for perfectly round red tomatoes without a single blemish and wind up with bland anemic knots that, in a blind taste test wouldn’t pass for a tomato any more than a watermelon would.  Look around you today and use the insight God gave you.  No, you can’t look on their hearts, but you can sure look a whole lot deeper than you usually do.

Judge not according to appearance, but judge righteous judgment, John 7:24.

Dene Ward

            We bought our little piece of acreage over twenty-five years ago, when nothing and no one was back here off the highway but us.  A couple of folks lived up on the main road, and maybe a half dozen within a mile of our turn off, but we were virtually alone because the deeds on the other plots were not yet free and clear for sale.

            About eight years later, things changed and a few people moved in.  Finally, inevitably I suppose, someone moved next to us.  Still, when you are at opposite ends of five acre plots with woods between you, you can pretend you are alone.  Then the folks “next door” moved their married children to the back of their five acres, and suddenly we had a neighbor about two hundred feet across the fence, way too close by our standards.

            Then they cleared out the pine trees, and some of the brush went down under the heavy equipment too.  I feel like I am on display now, especially at night, since their front door faces our front windows.  They would still need binoculars to see anything, but that doesn’t make me feel a bit better. 

            So last spring we built a twelve foot high trellis and planted a combination of confederate jasmine, purple trumpet flowers, blue passion vines, and Carolina jessamine to screen us.  By next summer it should be doing a pretty good job of that.  The tendrils of one jasmine, a couple of the Jessamines, and all the passions vines have already wound their way up to the top of the trellis.  All of them are well-established with new shoots sprouting all over the runners, and all nine plants have even bloomed this year, which we never expected after their being transplanted. 

            I was reading Proverbs 14 the other day and came across this:  By the mouth of a fool comes a rod for his pride.  I just assumed it was a rod of correction, as in He who spares the rod spoils his child.  I don’t know what made me look up “rod” in the concordance, but I am glad I did because I made a discovery.  This word is not the same word usually translated “rod.”  In fact, it is only found one other time in the Bible, in Isa 11:1.

            And there shall come forth a shoot out of the stock of Jesse, and a branch out of his roots shall bear fruit.

            The word translated rod in that Proverbs passage is not “stock” and it is not “branch.”  It is “shoot,” as in a leaf sprouting out of a main branch.  That gives you a whole new insight into the proverb.

            When a fool talks, those words are shooting forth from the main branch—his pride.  They are a product of arrogance, conceit, and self-satisfaction.  It may not be that a person who talks a lot is always a proud person, but it certainly is true that a proud person talks too much.  He is busy trying to convince everyone else that he is as good as he thinks he is.

            Now think about those vines of ours.  Once the tendrils catch hold of the trellis they are tenacious.  It is nearly impossible to get them loose without breaking a branch.  Even if you cut the plant at the bottom, the vine will hang on for several days, and if it has been close to something organic--the ground, the branch of another plant--it may very well have rooted on its own and just keep climbing.

            When your pride starts branching out, its tendrils will wind around to the point that it is nearly impossible to get it out of your system.  Maybe that is why it is one of the things God especially warns us about.  You cannot fix your problems when you cannot see them, and pride will blind you to your own faults as nothing else can.

            I want the vines on my trellis to screen me from my neighbors, but you don’t want a vine that screens you from any correction your soul desperately needs.  Be careful when you find yourself talking a lot.  It might be sprouting from pride, and once that pride catches hold of you, your soul is in grave danger.

Talk no more so exceeding proudly; let not arrogance come out of your mouth.  For Jehovah is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed, 1 Sam 2:3.        

Dene Ward

            If you are a gardener, you have probably made your fair share of zucchini bread.  We quit growing zucchini a long time ago.  We prefer yellow summer squash instead.  At least it has a little flavor.  But it also works for zucchini bread, and I have found a way to make that little loaf that is actually worth baking.

            Most zucchini (or squash) bread is compact and dense, and just about flavorless.  Try this instead.  Cut the amount of oil almost in half.  Use brown sugar instead of white granulated, and at least double the cinnamon.  If you use nuts, toast them first.  Then here is the big trick—put all that grated zucchini in a dish towel and squeeze as hard as you can.  You will get anywhere from ½ to 1 cup of water out of that squash.  No wonder the loaf was flavorless. It was literally washed out.

            Now you will have a lighter loaf that is still plenty moist and actually has some flavor instead of that compact brick that hardly rises above the top of the pan.  In fact, you won’t mind serving this one to guests, and they won’t run away and hide when you mention it either.

            Modern organized religion has suffered the same fate as that old zucchini bread recipe.  It is literally washed out from all the additions men have made.  Just as schools are now expected to teach the things that parents should teach at home, churches are expected to right the social injustices in this world and support every worthy cause in manpower and money.  You can read the New Testament from Matthew to Revelation and never find half the things found in a modern denomination.  But then these are the same people who, like the Jews of Jesus’ day, expect a physical kingdom on this earth.  They’ve stopped hoping for Heaven and settled for a poor imitation on this earth.

            My kingdom is not of this world, Jesus said, John 18:36.  Jeremiah prophesied that no one from the lineage of Jeconiah (the kingly line of Judah through David) would ever sit on the throne reigning in Jerusalem, despite the beliefs of thousands of dispensationalists, Jer 22:31.  The work of the church is not about feeding the hungry—it’s about feeding the soul.  It’s not about making sure everyone has a fair shake in this life—it’s about enduring that injustice and preparing ourselves to be fit for the next life.  Check this out yourself:  churches that are sold on the social gospel no longer preach much about heaven.  To them this life is what matters and that’s why they are so hung up on it.  That’s why their religion is so waterlogged with extraneous rituals and activities.  That’s why so many of the “un-churched” are turned off by the dense brick of bread they are handed instead of the bread of life.

            Get out your Bibles and examine your church against the one in the New Testament.  Look through Acts and see how they converted sinners.  Here’s a hint:  it wasn’t with soup kitchens and Wednesday night potlucks.  Now look through the epistles and see the work they did.  It had nothing to do with gymnasiums and playgrounds.  See what they did when they met together for a formal group worship.  It wasn’t about entertainment.  Now maybe you can see the difference between an oily sodden brick of bread and a light flavorful loaf that actually appeals to the appetite.

            But then maybe it’s your appetite that is the problem in the first place. 

Jesus answered them and said, Verily, verily, I say unto you, You seek me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate of the loaves, and were filled.  Work not for the food which perishes, but for the food which abides unto eternal life, which the Son of man shall give unto you: for him the Father, even God, hath sealed, John 6:26-27.

Dene Ward

            I walked past the blueberries one morning in mid-April.  They were in full-bloom, more blooms than we’d seen in years.  The eastern sun shone straight into those white blossoms, nearly blinding me, when I thought I heard something.  I stopped and listened.  Sure enough, there was a hum coming from the blueberries.  Even with all the birdsong going on around me, the dogs yipping and playing in the field, and the truck traffic on the highway through the woods, that hum was loud and clear.  It was nearly as loud as the fan motor in our air conditioner.

            I couldn’t see them, but a sudden whining zipping past my face told me the answer to my unspoken question—bees.  The bushes were full of them.

            A preacher’s wife I know once told me about a congregation she had worshipped with for awhile.  She had run into someone in the community who did not have any reticence about telling her what he thought about that group—those people would never do anything for anyone, not even each other.  They were known for going to church on Sunday and then ignoring everyone else the rest of the week, including their own brethren.

            You cannot read the New Testament without having your nose rubbed in the fact that the early Christians were indeed known by their communities, but for exactly the opposite sorts of things.  They were in each other’s homes constantly.  They were helping others at every opportunity that arose, both believers and outsiders.  Paul told the women who had been widowed young that they should remarry so they could stay busy; he told the older men that they should be an example of good deeds to the younger.  Peter told Christians that their good deeds would “put to silence the ignorance of foolish men.” 

            There should be a hum about the church, a busy hive of activity, showing the character of Christ through, not only our “incorrupt doctrine and sound speech,” but the good we do for others.  What exactly did Christ say to those goats in the Matthew 25 judgment scene parable?  They were lost because they did not do for others, because by not doing for others they had not done for their Lord either.

            It is a shame that somewhere a church that claims to be a part of the Lord’s body is known for doing absolutely nothing. They profess that they know God, but by their works they deny him, being abominable and disobedient and unto every good work reprobate, Titus 1:16.

            Wherever you are today, make sure you are not the one in question.  Keep the hum alive.

Looking for the blessed hope and appearing of the glory of the great God and our Savior Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify until himself a people for his own possession, zealous of good works, Titus 2:13,14.

Dene Ward

            Garden season is nearly over down here in Florida.  A few months ago I transplanted my herb seedlings from cups to the herb bed.  We made the first transplant in March from the peat plugs we had placed the seeds in, to larger cups. We always write the type of plant on the cup so if they get mixed up, we will know what we are working with.  Some of the cups were clear plastic and the dark potting soil made it difficult to read the black marker writing on the outside.  Yet I could see “Sweet Ba” and since the majority of the plugs were herbs, I was positive they were “sweet basil” plants.  

            Imagine my surprise when, after planting the plants, I picked up two of the now empty clear cups and was able to see “Sweet Banana” on the side.  Two of those five plants were banana peppers, not basil!  So I dug those two out and took them to the main garden, transplanting them yet again, this time into the pepper row.  I double-checked all the cups, and yes, there were only two.  The others were either Sweet Basil or Marseilles Basil.

            That evening as I showed Keith the herb bed and told him the story, he walked around and looked at the basil from a different angle.  ‘’You know,” he said, “those three plants look like peppers too.”

            “Impossible,” I told him.  “I was very careful when we transplanted them to write what each plant was on the outside, and those are basil!”  Besides, I thought to myself, you are a vegetable gardener, not an herbalist.  You don’t even know what half these things are.

            Then I leaned a little closer—well, actually a lot closer.  Those leaves were a little different, a bit more spade-shaped, but then French basil looks much different than Italian too.  Finally I reached down and rubbed a leaf between my thumb and forefinger, and lifted them to my nose.  I should have been knocked over by the strong smell of basil.  Instead I got maybe a little whiff of “green” smell, nothing more.  They were indeed pepper plants.

            I wonder how many times we are too sure of ourselves.  We know what we know, we know how we got that knowledge, and we know that we know more than most, so how can we be wrong?  We have believed this thing for years.  Our parents or some highly respected teacher taught us.  It cannot possibly be wrong.

            So there we sit with peppers in our herb bed.  Peppers are good to have.  I cook with them a lot.  But when it comes time for a Caprese salad they are totally out of place, and I would like to see anyone try to make pesto with them.  Even if I am positive they are basil, the facts won’t change, and I will simply look ignorant to those with unbiased vision.

            Don’t get too sure of yourself.  Be willing to listen.  Be willing to double-check anything and anyone, including, and most especially perhaps, yourself.

The Almighty—we cannot find him; he is great in power; justice and abundant righteousness he will not violate. Therefore men fear him; he does not regard any who are wise in their own conceit, Job 37:23,24.

Dene Ward

Every other morning in June I stepped outside into the morning steam of dew rising off the grass, head and eyes shielded from the bright sunshine, and carried a five quart plastic bucket to our small stand of a dozen blueberry bushes.  It always amazes me how the morning temperature can be twenty degrees cooler than the afternoon’s, yet within minutes the perspiration is rolling from hairline to chin.  Even the dogs refuse to accompany me, though a shade tree stands within mere feet of the blueberries.  They sit on the carport, their bellies flat against the still cool cement and watch, probably commenting to one another about how silly humans can be.
 
   It was so uncomfortable one morning, and the blueberries so plenteous, their weight bending the boughs in deep arcs, that after the first half hour I became a little less careful in my picking.  Often as I reached deep into the interior of a bush where I had seen several plump, ripe, dusky blueberries hanging, I simply wrapped my hand around the clump and gently nudged each one with my thumb.  Berries that are ready to be picked will fall off the stem easily, and usually I pulled out a fistful of perfectly ripe ones.  Once in awhile though, a red one appeared in my palm, and even a white or green one.  Oh well, it certainly speeded up the process to pick that way, then toss out the bad ones, and it’s not like we had a measly crop this year.

    I wonder sometimes if we aren’t too careful in our attempts to reach the lost.  We have a bad habit of deciding who will listen before we ever start talking and our judgments are so different that the ones the Lord made.  He cast his nets into a polluted river, hoping to save as many dying fish as possible; we cast ours into the country club swimming pool, but that is another metaphor for another time.

    Sometimes we come across a blueberry bush with most of the berries still red, not quite ripe for the picking so we pass it by and leave a couple of big ripe ones, just begging to be put into the pie.  It is too much trouble to go after them one at a time.

    Other times we see a bush with quite a few plump ripe berries and instead of just reaching out and grabbing all we can, because there are a few not quite ready, we move to another branch.  No need picking a handful when we might need to throw out half of them.  And so we only reach for the easy ones, the ones that appeal to us because they look like the pictures in the cookbook and are easy to get to.  Those showing a hint of red at the stem end might take a little more effort, a little more sugar in the pie filling.  And because of that we miss some that would give our pie more flavor.

    In another figure Jesus told us to sow the seed wherever we could, not take the time to map it into suitable planting zones.  He said the world is ripe for picking.  “Don’t cast your pearls before swine,” is about people who have had their chance and rejected it, not about us judging another’s suitability to be our brethren.  Where would we have wound up if people had treated us that way?

    Go pick some blueberries.  Grab all you can and let the Lord decide which ones will make the best pie.

But when he saw the multitudes he was moved with compassion for them because they were distressed and scattered, as sheep not having a shepherd.  Then he said to his disciples, the harvest indeed is plenteous, but the laborers are few.  Pray therefore the Lord of the harvest that he send forth laborers into his harvest, Matt 9:36-38

Dene Ward

This is one of our favorite times of the year—the garden is booming and dinner will always be a treat of things we can only enjoy now, when the vegetables are truly “vine-ripened” and the price is perfect—just a lot of sweat.
 
   One night we will have stuffed bell peppers in a fresh tomato sauce with green beans on the side.  The next we will have eggplant parmigiana with a squash casserole on the side.  Later in the week it will be a country veggie plate of butterbeans, sliced tomatoes, roasted corn, fried okra, and a big wedge of cornbread.  Pasta night will feature a fresh tomato sauce with fresh oregano and feta cheese or a simple cherry tomato sauce with fresh basil.  Then there will be the times we try something new, like today’s grilled eggplant and red onion sandwich on a toasted multi-grain bun with lemon aioli and a big slice of tomato plus pita chips and baba ghanoush (a dip of grilled eggplant and tahini) on the side.  As the rest of the vegetables die off, we will still have the Italian plum tomatoes and enjoy a pizza with homemade crust and tomato sauce, plus a few late season peppers and some Italian sausage.  A few nights later, we will do the same thing, but fold it over and make a calzone out of it with the sauce on the side.  Yes, this is one of our favorite times of the year.

    But now we are seeing that it will have to end sometime in the near future.  Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s our age, maybe it’s a combination of the two, but all this good food isn’t worth sacrificing our health for, much less our lives.  Someday soon we will have to buy canned and frozen foods at the store like everyone else instead of using the preserved items we have labored over for three months every year.  

    Which all serves to remind us of what we have lost and why.  By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” Gen 3:19.  

We sweat a lot over this garden.  Some days I think it is watered more by us than the rain.  That is as it should be, for sin deserves far worse punishment than that and every one of us has participated in it.  It is by God’s mercy that we plant in the spring when we have a cool breeze and a sun that is not directly over us.  That same mercy grants us a salvation we do not deserve, and the help to make it through a life we have all but ruined from the beginning.  Why should we expect a perfect life now?  Why should we expect that things will always turn out right?  Someone has not been reading the same Bible I have.  It is grace that promises us that there is a perfect place in the future.  Don’t look upon that hope with ingratitude because you cannot have it now.  We have only ourselves to blame.

    But in the midst of the toil, the sweat, the thorns and thistles and weeds, we enjoy a few weeks of some of the best meals in the world—not gourmet feasts, not something concocted by a celebrity chef—but the plain and simple fare that comes straight from the ground and reminds us of the provision God has made “for the just and the unjust,” not because He had to, but because He wanted to.  It also reminds us of the garden we will return to someday, and never have to leave again.  If you don’t have your own garden, head to the farmers’ market this week and remind yourselves that God still loves us.  This is the way it is supposed to be, and it can be again.  It’s up to you whether you get to enjoy it.

Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned…But the free gift is not like the trespass. For if many died through one man's trespass, much more have the grace of God and the free gift by the grace of that one man Jesus Christ abounded for many…For if, because of one man's trespass, death reigned through that one man, much more will those who receive the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man Jesus Christ, Rom 5:12,15,17.

Dene Ward