I spoke of it in a spring post. I waited too long to plant it out, and so it valiantly bloomed in its little black plastic container. Then I did put it out, ashamedly; and its final days were glorious, although brief and lived in miniature.
I didn't like being God of the Garden at that moment. I felt my failure in the stewardship of those things that have no power to tend themselves.
But then, God remembered my heart--the one I bear before Him in one way or another every day; and He chuckled
and gave me a surprise:
Now, I can offer a lot of scenarios that explain how an upward-straining sunflower is growing brashly in the middle of my squash patch, but none of these scenarios involve me consciously planting the thing. I have no idea how it got here.
Yet here it is.
And I am reminded of my position as steward, and not as God of the Garden, after all. But my time of humbling failure finds its redemption, even its glory as the real God of the Garden slips in. Where the evil one might plant tares, or where the ignorant one fails to plant at all, God sneaks in and plants the good that was lost. And with a cosmic intimacy, He demonstrates that He enjoys my work there--in that place where He walks with me and teaches me to wear joy even in the shreds of failure.
Best of all, I am sweetly reminded to rejoice in thankfulness over the mysterious goodness that comes bounding over my broken stumbles in more ways than just the planting of flowers.
"Let God arise, and let his enemies be scattered, let those who hate him flee before him.
Let them vanish like smoke when the wind drives it away; as the wax melts at the fire,
so let the wicked perish at the presence of God.
But let the righteous be glad and rejoice before God;
let them also be merry and joyful." Psalm 68:1-3
Merry Sabbath to you!