on corn and contentment

Cucumbers and tomatoes from last year's garden.

It is time to get going in the garden.  I can't believe I forgot to start my tomatoes and peppers.  I mean, what was I even doing in February?  Besides not starting my seedlings?  Our ag extension sells tomato and pepper plants as a fundraiser for scholarships, so not all is lost, but I was really looking forward to this year being a cost free garden.  That all of my seed saving last year would have paid off this year.

If I look back, I know where the forgetfulness started.  It began with getting my seed catalogs in January.  I saw all of those beautiful pages of heirloom, non-GMO corn and I began to feel ungrateful.  I wanted to be able to plant that corn.  I wanted to be able to offer my family and friends corn that has not been tainted by modern technology.  But I don't have the space.  So I became ungrateful for what I do have.  All of that discontent thinking led me to put the garden on the back burner.  It became all or nothing in my mind.  How foolish.  How ugly.

So maybe I can't plant corn.

I have a home.

So maybe I can't plant corn.

I have the money to buy organic frozen corn at the store.


So maybe I can't plant corn.

I have a healthy family.  Even though they have occasionally consumed GMO corn.


And obviously this list goes on and only reveals my stupidity.  My inability to be joy-filled with what God has given me.  Like life and breath, and over and above all- grace.

My inability to open my arms and whole-heartedly accept what He chooses for my life.

So after a month of refining, of getting the things that I know in my mind to be settled and planted firmly in my heart, I can think about the garden again.  And even though I forgot about planting those tomato seeds in February, I was reminded of some important truths.  I was busy planting seeds of gratitude, I suppose.  So much in my life vies for the spot where these seeds have been planted.  Lies take root and grow like weeds trying to choke out my joy, my thankfulness.  The garden of the soul takes more maintenance than my vegetables.  And when one of those weeds takes hold and pulls me down, I wobble up only through the grace of my Father, the Good Shepherd.  The One who leads and prunes and piles grace upon grace.