Way beyond what seemed reasonable to me, my lettuce mix thrived and grew on the back porch this fall. Each time the temperatures dipped or I woke up to frost on the ground, I checked the pot of mixed greens, and the little leaves continued to hold up their heads.
I harvested a salad from the pot sometime in mid-November, and even then, there was new growth poking up from the dirt. As long as the leaves were green, and the stems were firm, there was hope it would last a little longer.
I harvested a salad from the pot sometime in mid-November, and even then, there was new growth poking up from the dirt. As long as the leaves were green, and the stems were firm, there was hope it would last a little longer.
So I continued to water the determined plant and adjust it for maximum sunlight and hope for the best. Even though I had already de-potted most of the other annuals and put the pots to bed in the garage, I decided to wait out the lettuce, just to see.
This past week, however, the plant reached its inevitable end. With temperatures dropping and staying well below freezing for days at a time, and a wintery mix falling off and on over several days, the little plant just couldn't make it. The signs were all gone. Some of the leaves were turning black, and the stems were hanging their heads: the lettuce was beyond redemption. So, I dragged the pot into the garage, planning to clean it up when the weather was a little better.
--
Sometimes, that's the way I approach my life in general, living by sight, not by faith. As long as the signs are all there, I have hope. If my job seems secure, my test results continue to come back normal, and the people around me are happy, I have hope.
But at the first sign that something is wrong, suddenly the situation, or my entire life, seems beyond redemption.
I hear this viewpoint expressed all around me, too. Just this week, while grieving over a difficult situation her son is in, a friend asked, " What is God doing in this?" I overheard another conversation about a girl who was so out of control her parents had given her up and she was rejected by one foster family after another. "She's beyond help," they were saying.
On a starry night more than two thousand years ago, another woman must have felt this way. Engaged to be married to a good man, she suddenly found herself with a pregnancy scare that didn't go away. Though she had been visited by an angel who assured her this was of God, she hastily went away to stay with relatives for three months. When she finally returned home, she soon discovered the government was forcing her to make an unexpected trip to her husband's family's hometown for the census. Just weeks, days, before she expected to deliver the baby.
At that point, I could easily imagine Mary walking with Joseph's family on the road to Judea, feeling their doubt and cynicism with every look, wondering if the situation was beyond hope. "What is God doing in this?" she no doubt asked herself.
But not for the first time.
How often in the next 33 years did she wonder again, "Are we beyond help?" At Jesus' birth in a barn? Or while they were fleeing to Egypt? Did the questions go away for a while during the good years, when Jesus grew and became strong, only to return when the Pharisees began questioning him fairly early in his ministry?
And did it seem that all hope was lost when he was arrested, tried, beaten, killed?
The signs were gone. Mary and her Son were beyond redemption. "I knew it," she might have said to herself at the foot of the cross, tears streaming, heart breaking. "I knew from the first night the angel spoke to me, I knew it when we left Galilee, and I knew it when we were in that stinking barn. There's no hope."
OR . . .
From that first night on the road between Nazareth and Bethlehem, did Mary look beyond the signs and believe with faith the words the angel had spoken, "For nothing will be impossible with God"? And did she return, again and again, to those heavenly words, even when the situation seemed hopeless, and believe that nothing, no one, was beyond redemption?
But at the first sign that something is wrong, suddenly the situation, or my entire life, seems beyond redemption.
I hear this viewpoint expressed all around me, too. Just this week, while grieving over a difficult situation her son is in, a friend asked, " What is God doing in this?" I overheard another conversation about a girl who was so out of control her parents had given her up and she was rejected by one foster family after another. "She's beyond help," they were saying.
On a starry night more than two thousand years ago, another woman must have felt this way. Engaged to be married to a good man, she suddenly found herself with a pregnancy scare that didn't go away. Though she had been visited by an angel who assured her this was of God, she hastily went away to stay with relatives for three months. When she finally returned home, she soon discovered the government was forcing her to make an unexpected trip to her husband's family's hometown for the census. Just weeks, days, before she expected to deliver the baby.
At that point, I could easily imagine Mary walking with Joseph's family on the road to Judea, feeling their doubt and cynicism with every look, wondering if the situation was beyond hope. "What is God doing in this?" she no doubt asked herself.
But not for the first time.
How often in the next 33 years did she wonder again, "Are we beyond help?" At Jesus' birth in a barn? Or while they were fleeing to Egypt? Did the questions go away for a while during the good years, when Jesus grew and became strong, only to return when the Pharisees began questioning him fairly early in his ministry?
And did it seem that all hope was lost when he was arrested, tried, beaten, killed?
The signs were gone. Mary and her Son were beyond redemption. "I knew it," she might have said to herself at the foot of the cross, tears streaming, heart breaking. "I knew from the first night the angel spoke to me, I knew it when we left Galilee, and I knew it when we were in that stinking barn. There's no hope."
OR . . .
From that first night on the road between Nazareth and Bethlehem, did Mary look beyond the signs and believe with faith the words the angel had spoken, "For nothing will be impossible with God"? And did she return, again and again, to those heavenly words, even when the situation seemed hopeless, and believe that nothing, no one, was beyond redemption?
--
This morning, with the sun shining and the temperatures easing up above the freezing mark, I found myself piddling around the garage a bit, eventually making my way over to the last of the flower pots I drug in during the coldest day last week. It had been too cold and windy to do anything about them then; I just didn't want them to freeze to the back porch or crack in the bitter temperatures. I thought today might be a good day to get them cleaned up.
As I examined them a little closer, I noticed the lettuce in the pot seemed green again. Surprisingly, the leaves were shining, the stems were standing upright, and it seemed like there might even have been some new growth since I brought them in. So, once again, I put it back out in the sun, just in case that lettuce had a little life left in it.
I may not be able to harvest another salad out of the pot, but seeing those little plants standing upright after what they had weathered reminded me yet again, there's always hope in Christ.
I may not be able to harvest another salad out of the pot, but seeing those little plants standing upright after what they had weathered reminded me yet again, there's always hope in Christ.
"And he said, The things which are impossible with men are possible with God." Luke 18:27
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Thanks, Charity! This one was very encouraging to me today. It reminds me of the end of Psalm 34- He redeems the lives of His servants, none who take refuge in Him will be condemned. There is more hope in Christ than I have faith to believe in sometimes! I'm thankful that when I waver in circumstances, His hope remains the same.
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