I knelt and prayed in my vegetable garden this morning. It wasn’t a theologically profound exercise in which I invoked the Almighty to intercede in the affairs of man, ecce homo.
No, it wasn’t a grand, pompous affair. I simply asked God to help me with my day and to represent him well in everything I did. My hands rested face down in the dirt, a reminder of Abraham’s declaration to God that he was “but dust and ashes.” (Gen 18:27 NASB) My prematurely wrinkled hands looked oddly beautiful in the soft dirt, inches away from my incoming crop of zucchini and green beans.
I couldn’t overcome the temptation to pray for my minuscule patch of land, that the assortment of heirloom tomatoes, carrots, chili and bell peppers, zucchini and green beans would somehow be a blessing to everyone who comes to our home. As corny as it seems, I’ve become personally involved with these plants. When my bell peppers didn’t take off — and still haven’t — I scratch my head and go over everything I’ve done to give them a good start. When my impatiens and violas I planted from seed didn’t germinate, I went online for answers.
I’m sure God must feel this way about us: watching, nourishing protecting and then wondering why his initiatives don’t take as he expected them to. It must be frustrating to see us make a mess of things continually and having to rescue us. I’m so grateful he does.