TLC and the Impossible

Is anything too hard for the LORD? —Genesis 18:14 NIV

That horse manure sure did the job.

I canned fifteen quarts of fresh tomatoes. And there was still more on the porch and plants.

We hadn’t planned on having so many tomatoes—and I sure hadn’t planned on canning ever again. At this stage of the game, I wasn’t looking for more work. All we wanted was a small garden so we could enjoy a few fresh fruits and vegetables. 

So, in the spring we bought a half dozen tomato plants and a couple of pepper plants, put in a row of green beans, and scattered a few cucumber seeds. And, since our soil is absolutely horrible when it comes to supporting anything we sow, my DH (dear husband) dumped on a healthy heaping of horse manure.

Then our son gave us a dozen tomato plants and a half  dozen pepper plants—leftovers which had languished for at least a week, unwanted and uncared for, after he’d planted his garden. 

DH is not a man to waste anything. He plowed and harrowed another section in the yard, planted the donations, and fenced it in. He had such fun. I didn’t mind because never in my wildest dreams did I imagine those drooping, half-dead, pathetic plants would produce so much. It must have been the manure. Or the weather. Or luck. Or maybe it was the tender loving care DH lavished on them.

People can be like those dying, castoff tomato plants—without a hope until someone says, “I’m going to try to save you,” and then prepares a place where they can grow undisturbed, nourishes them, plucks the weeds, and lovingly cares for them. Sometimes our efforts make a difference. Sometimes they don’t. But I believe we are better for trying. And you never know when the turnaround will come.

I tend to cast people off as hopeless cases at times, too. Their needs are just too great, their problems too overwhelming. The answer is, in my eyes, impossible. 

But I forget. Our God is the God of the impossible. Is anything too hard for Him? He who spoke creation into being, whose mighty power calmed the winds and stilled the storm—and transformed life after life after life? He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He who cares for the insignificant sparrow can take droopy, half-dead, castoff human beings, transplant them, and nurture them until they, too, produce a harvest. Look at Sarah and Abraham. Mary Magdalene. Zacchaeus. Matthew. Paul. 

My own eyes have seen the transformation of a man whom I thought was an impossible case. A castoff with more problems than I thought even prayer could handle. But God showed me different. Impossible? For God—nothing is impossible. 

It just goes to show—never count anyone (or anything) down and out—no matter what it appears like. You never know what a little TLC will do.

 Dear God, help me never to give up on anyone—ever. Amen.

 Read and reflect on Isaiah 55:8–13.

 From God, Me, and a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional reading to savor during your time with God, © 2017, Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

Soil Toil

Image by mwahl from Pixabay

Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts. –Psalm 95:7–8 NIV

Every year when it’s time to plant our garden, my husband works hard to prepare the soil for the seeds.

First he plows, turning the hardened earth over and under. Then he tills it, breaking up tough clumps of sod and removing the rocks that rise to the surface with the churning—and there are buckets full still, after forty years. Then he works lime and fertilizer in the loose soil with the tiller—and, of course, removes more rocks.

Only when the soil is loose and porous, and boosted with nutrients necessary for plant growth does he drop in the seeds.

Even then his soil toil is far from over. Throughout the growing season, he must keep working it, tilling it to keep it loose and soft, plucking those endless rocks, pulling weeds, and periodically adding more lime and fertilizer.

After every hard rain, the soil hardens again, more rocks appear, and he must hoe around the growing plants so the nutrients they need to grow could filter through to the roots. And, of course, pick rocks.

Even after the harvest the work isn’t done. Plowing the whole thing under allows the decaying plants to add more nutrients to the soil over the winter.

Then, the following spring, he starts all over. The ground always needs work.

Just like our souls. We need a lot of work, too—over and over. The work is never done on this earth.

It all starts with a hardened heart that cannot accept the seed. To get our attention, God often turns our lives upside-down, breaking up tough clumps of stubbornness and rebellion. Then, to soften our hearts even more, He keeps things churned up until we are submissive and workable. Rocks of selfishness and willfulness, which crop up daily, must be removed. Storms of life also tend to bring them to the surface.

But the seed needs nutrition to grow, and too many idle years result in a depleted soul, fallow and barren. To remedy this, the lime of prayer and the fertilizer of fellowship with more mature Christians must be applied—by the bagful.

But we’re not ready to produce a harvest yet, are we? Those weeds of worldliness must be carefully twisted out of our hearts, where their roots reach deep, leeching the nutrients and choking the tendrils of spiritual life.

Only after all this toil—plowing, tilling, hoeing, rock plucking, fertilizing, watering, weeding—can our soil-soul support growth and eventually produce a harvest.

But there is never, really, any one type of soil, is there? Perhaps that’s why I’ve always had trouble answering the question, “What kind of soil are you?”

I am not one type of soil, you see. I am all of them.

Dear God, thank You that soil can be changed. Thank You for changing me—little by little, rock by rock, weed by weed. Amen.

Read and reflect on Matthew 13:3–9, 18–23.

From God, Me, and a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3, © 2019 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

Contact me @ michelethuey@gmail.com if you wish to use this.