"I am at rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him." ( Psalm 62:1 )
During January I've decided to take a social media sabbatical. During this time of spiritual detox, I'll continue to post farming blogs which usually end up being more about theology than farming.
And anyway to me the two are forever intertwined since our Maker saw fit to form man out of dust from the ground and then place us in a garden paradise. A garden God himself planted for mankind to work and keep. In that sense, we are all farmers. Now you know why you love animals so much or develop this urge in spring to push your bare fingers through rich, turned up soil and set a tomato plant.
During the last eighteen years as I've walked about my little chunk of garden earth here east of Eden, I'm constantly reminding myself to listen to nature. Like most of us, I tend to get in a rush with my duties overlooking the wisdom standing unrestrained before me; God's handiwork directs my preoccupied mind to hush up and pay attention. As I've put my listening ear to the air, I do hear that nature sings.
Even in its fallen condition groaning to be redeemed and restored along with mankind, creation in every wing and fin and tiny vegetable sprout still hums and harmonizes in praise of its Creator.
This year I read John Updike's "Pigeon Feathers," a short story about a fourteen year old boy on a farm who is searching for someone to give him proof for the existence of God after H.G. Wells smashes his faith. His parents, catechism classmates, and even the apparently faithless and unreliable reverend teaching the class not only fail poor David but humiliate him as well for his questions.
Then God moves like only the great Creator can when we are in our crisis of faith. As David begins to bury the dead pigeons his family instructs him to shoot with his new birthday rifle because they have invaded the barn, he encounters his God moment.
As he examines the perfection and intricate design of the pigeon's feathers for flight and warmth and beauty, he becomes astounded and overwhelmed that such detail and precision could be given to such birds exterminated as pests, and thus sure of the existence of God.
"And across the surface of the infinitely adjusted yet somehow effortless mechanics of the feathers played idle designs of color, no two alike, designs executed, it seemed, in a controlled rapture, with a joy that hung level in the air above and behind him."
Nature sings.
The dogs and I walk.
I rest next to the creek while Aslan and Shasta lap up its cool refreshment. I notice the brook trout and minnows teaming in schools, swirling in unison with the trickling currents that flow around the huge creek boulders. As the dogs splash into the water the fish quickly disappear in the foam and bubbles. With glistening, flipping tails they seem to swim so happily together in that living stream.
I see that fish have a relationship with water.
If we were to scoop them all up in a net and fling them onto the earth, their happiness would end, their purpose and in fact their very lives would be snatched away.
Fish were made for water. It's where they not only survive, but thrive. It's home.
Standing up on my feet from the creek bank, I am small and humble under the huge shapely American sycamore trees that line the shore. A multitude of round, prickly pods dangle in the soft morning breeze. The trees' otherwise bare limbs out stretch in festive welcome as if into a magical land inhabited by hobbits and elves.
The dogs and I continue on to the sheep field as I admire the stately oaks and hickories along the way. Shells and acorns crunch and pop beneath our feet on the loamy trail. Rounding the curve at the top of the driveway back at the house, we are greeted there by the Farmer's dormant chestnut and fruit trees. The stark branches remind me not to be hopeless. In spring, their bleak and empty arms will become pregnant and heavy with leaves, blossoms, and then full of rich, ripe fruit.
I see that trees have a relationship with soil.
Their life is found in the dirt. If we were to bulldoze them over and uproot them from their earth home, they would wither and die. They can only prosper and bring forth a harvest as long as they are rooted in soil.
If you feel like you are exhausted and empty and can't catch your breath, if you feel as if you're unplugged from a power that can make you whole, it is because you are not connected to your life source.
Like the fish swimming inside of water and trees planted deep within soil, you were made to be connected to something.
You were made for God.
Mankind has been disconnected from our life blood since the sin that took place by our first parents in the Garden of Eden when they disobeyed the only commandment God gave to them. Their sin transferred to all mankind separating us from God, and it continues to pile up day by day as we desperately live out of our own meager, borrowed resources.
God could have walked out of our lives at that moment in the garden not ever looking back, and he would have done us no wrong. But he didn't. He made a covenant with Adam and Eve. There would be thorns and thistles, consequences, yes, because of sin, but there would also be a Rescuer. God himself would provide a sacrifice for us. The only One that could save us from our sin. He would send his Son Jesus.
Being called a sinner may offend you and sound like abuse, but true love speaks the truth even if it hurts. If you saw a person beating on someone's chest, you might think that they were assaulting them. But if you knew that person had stopped breathing and the person pounding on their chest was in fact trying frantically to save the person's life, you would be urging them on, perhaps shouting and praying for success.
We were made to worship God, and if we are not connected back to him, we will worship something else instead. Something else that will never satisfy the longings of our aching soul no matter how hard we try.
Career, family, romantic partner, identity, status, reputation, addictions, wealth, health, talents, homesteads, revenge - we will worship something. Something will take up residency in our empty heart.
But that heart was made to be the home of a King. A King who reigns supreme in righteousness.
In the end the things we make our idols will crush us, and we will crush them with our demands. No one can carry the weight of our emptiness but God. No one can sustain us but him.
Yes, God stayed in the garden, and Jesus stayed on the cross.
But he didn't stay in the tomb.
Our Redeemer lives.
So, like David in the story your faith may be shattered and you're looking for answers. We all have questions. If we understood the depths of an all-knowing, infinite, holy God, we wouldn't have questions.
But that's just it! I do understand those things: God is all-knowing and all-wise, loving, good, and great. I understand he loved me so much that he sent his only Son to die so I could live. However, I have two sons and a grandson, and I can't even begin to understand demonstrating that kind of love and grace and mercy toward rebellious creatures who think they know better how to live their lives than the transcendent One who created them. But I believe he did it.
I've learn to root what I don't understand in the fertile soil of what I do understand. I guess you could call it 'spiritual farming.'
I can't explain it but, somehow, someway, we are going to be better for having been lost and found again.
"For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls." ( 1 Peter 2:25 )
Come back to him.
Repent and believe in the One he sent.
Happy New Year! 🎉
"I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing." ( John 15:5 )
