Going to the Garden

Tag: jesus

  • Moths and Rust

    Barely a month into our new apartment, and there are 2 broken things. A dishwasher that isn’t draining, and a bathroom fan that won’t turn on. Eerily reminiscent of our last rental, and two of the precursors to the catastrophic mold and rodent issues that led to our emergency move.

    So I found myself, at 10 o’clock at night, hand washing and drying two days worth of dishes so we’d have counter space to make breakfast in the morning. Oddly enough, I wasn’t mad unlike how I’ve often found myself at unfair inconvenience. I did smirk at the irony. And I felt the hand of God pointing back to my very recent lesson: decay in this life is inevitable.

    Last month, in the middle of the uncertainty and upheaval of moving and before I knew where we’d live, I was walking the beach and talking with God about the unfairness of it all. I found lots of beach treasures (see previous post about Pretty Little Things). I also saw a gnarly, saltwater-eaten penny. Ok, ok, this one deserves a trip back in time to understand the significance better.

    *Doo Doo Doo Doo*

    I was raised below poverty-level poor, and by the time my husband and I had our daughter, our finances had not improved. But my faith in Jesus had begun to take root in a new way. I found myself getting to truly know God as Yahweh Yireh: the One who foresees and provides. No matter how hard my husband and I tried, we could never get ahead or get a good-paying job, but God always provided what we needed in unexpected, random ways just to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. One thing that kept my head up in those years was finding pennies on the ground literally everywhere I went. For me, it was a tangible reminder of the manna God provided His people in the desert. As I walked through my own personal weary, dry land, finding these pennies became a connection I had with Him and a sign of encouragement.

    I don’t need pennies as desperately as I once did because He grew that confidence and expectation in me. But seeing them, albeit much less frequently than I used to, still reminds me of that time.

    Okay, so back to the gnarly penny I found last month on the beach: I knew without a doubt this was another reminder. But this time it was about the impermanence of material provision. This time God was saying “Girl, you know I always provide for you. But the ultimate goal is not material provision. It will rot. It will decay. You are free to seek true, lasting provision.”

    Seriously, the message was that clear. Not in those specific words, but the gist of it was the same. Just this loving discipline that went along with having to let go of my shells and sea glass.

    And it was confirmed again. The next day, I found another penny on the sidewalk, and it had deep scratches all over it. Yes, God will provide, but these material things are not my focus. They are not the source of my security or hope. Even if God is the source of my house or my things, they will break and be lost and eventually go away.

    So when I found myself doing dishes tonight, I was prepared to say: yeah, that makes sense. I can expect things to break and go wrong. Not because I’m unlucky or unloved, but because that is life here. My fight is not against the impermanence or decay of this life, but against the spiritual forces that seek to make me think this life is all that there is. My hope in Christ will far outlast even the newest dishwasher, hallelujah.

    As I write this, I am listening to the freezer fan going wonky, as it has been since we moved in, and I’m wondering how much time we have left for that appliance, too. To God be the glory! He holds my life, and my frozen foods, in His hands.

  • Pretty Little Things

    I was on the beach earlier this month, getting out my frustrations with God, hoping to get some encouragement. I started picking up pretty bits of shell and rock and glass, enjoying the colors and being soothed by the activity of searching, while conversing with my Creator.

    As my bladder began insisting it was time for me to end my search, I stood looking at the collection I had uncovered. I thought, “This will be a good reminder of my time with God”. And I felt in my spirit that I needed to drop these things and walk away.

    At first I protested: that doesn’t make any sense. These are just bits of things, they make me happy. What an odd thought. Probably the OCD kicking in. But no, this was an object lesson. Did I really need those things to remember my time with God? Did I need more things to look at and decorate with until the clutter consumed my space?

    So I went through the shells one by one to make sure I wasn’t leaving an important one. And in the end, I dropped them all on the sand. And in my spirit I sensed that God was encouraging me to trust Him, not in all the pretty things I think I need to keep me happy or secure or relevant.

    We have been in the process of completing an emergency move from our rented duplex to an apartment, and this scene has replayed in my mind throughout going through our things, figuring out what is salvageable from mold and mice, what is needed, and what isn’t.

    I’ve had many opportunities to ask myself: What things am I holding on to because I hope to one day get to it, or because I like the idea of it, or because I might need it later? How does amassing all these things hinder my time and energy to follow through with what God is calling me to? I come from an ancestry that kept things out of the “what-ifs” of potential lack or actual poverty. My forebearers compiled their own collections of perceived need and comfort to detrimental effect. This is uncomfortable territory.

    And I keep seeing myself throwing the pretty shells back on the sand, trusting God to keep me secure and complete, and somehow the desire to hold on to things weakens.

    Then I lost something of personal value. I had toted around a wrought iron and wood bench that belonged to my poverty-level parents before they divorced when I was a teen, all the way from New Mexico to Washington. It was special to me, even with the difficult memories. I had completed ongoing restoration on it with my husband, and it was beautiful. It was stolen from our yard in the middle of our move.

    As I mourned the loss, I was reminded of my open hand dropping pretty, little, significant things in anticipation that God would be enough, that He would provide.This moving and other circumstances has also reminded me of the very temporary nature of buildings, people, and things. All are subject to change, to decay. And all this was causing me to feel dissatisfied. Restless. Searching.

    So this morning I directed myself to seek God. I’ve been avoiding intimate time in prayer the past couple of weeks. It’s been busy and chaotic, but more than that, I’ve been afraid that God will not meet me in the middle of my swirling thoughts and feelings. No matter that He’s done it over and over before. I wasn’t sure about this time. Because the thing my anxious thoughts remember most about God is that He doesn’t do things my way. He doesn’t meet me how or when I expect Him to.

    What anxiety conveniently leaves out is that the way God meets me and speaks with me is what I really need, every single time. I ended up reading Ecclesiastes, and being comforted by an ancient king’s perspective that mirrors my own fretting. I came across 2 Corinthians 5 which has done much good for my heart in the past, that reminds me that the temporary nature of this life is GOOD.

    All these pretty things are good. But they are not of ultimate good. I can drop and miss and rest. And that will not change anything of eternal value. Give Him time and space to work, friend. He will not disappoint. This world surely will, but He will not.