I read these words while sitting in the space between spring and summer, on the cusp of wild verdant growth:
“Glorifying and enjoying Me is a higher priority than maintaining a tidy, structured life. Give up your striving to keep everything under control — an impossible task and a waste of precious energy.”
(Excerpted from Jesus Calling by Sarah Young)
Here in the upper Midwest, the growing season might be short, but it hits furiously and strong when the heat finally breaks through the tight grasp of winter.
I can’t control this season anymore than I can control anything else, as I am reminded again. My life is not a neatly planted hedge of planned events; rather, a messy string of occurrences and mistakes, which the Lord is using to graciously teach me what He wants me to know.
Anything that has happened out of my control is still in the Lord’s hands and in His control. Thankfully, I don’t exist in a world devoid of spiritual abundance– He is there, always, offering with open hands what the soul desperately needs.
If winter reminds me of that deep void in the soul, summer reminds me of what is possible with God. Summer shows me what seeds of faith can become– flowers and fruit. A life hidden with God results in wisdom, peace, love… and other manifestations of His indwelling spirit.
A seed planted does not strive against the soil. It does not jump out of the ground and transplant itself elsewhere. It does not fight against the roots that will soon sprout from its coat. It simply lives, grows, and thrives, nourished by the soil and its environment.
We are like seeds planted by a Master, connected to a rich vine and a water-source that never runs dry. We, like seeds, have no need to strive for tomorrow, or to strain for control.
I wrote a poem two years ago about about new beginnings and planting seeds… about the work done in our hearts, and the hope that hearts turn toward their Maker:
I take a spear and tear
ground open, unzipping
warm earth, watch half-
earthworms wriggle, struggle
for slice of dirt-breath
In desperation, I plant
a few seeds and wait in vain
for a forest and hope
for the turning