When I asked people on the Facebook page, “What has gardening in your yard taught you about life?” the responses got me thinking about the value of what can be the hardest part of cultivating anything: the wait.
“Though the repeated [applications of] manure burns and stinks, a little seed, given up on, can suddenly spring forth and thrive despite it all. It can become the most valued of all the other seeds… [and] produce the finest heirloom seeds for future generations to benefit from and love most.”
It’s worth the wait.
Not just because the fruit that springs from effort is sweeter, but because WE are sweeter through the process. While that plot of dirt is sitting there, making us crazy with the wait, the crops in our hearts are sprouting all over the place.
I’ve seen it in my own life:
- Month after month of infertility leading up to becoming a mom developed emotional muscle I couldn’t live without. Especially considering what we’re going through with the kids we got!
- Years of conflict over whether to invest in writing or a “real job” gave me the conviction to plow through hundreds of hours of writing and complete my first book this spring.
- Hours of screwing up recipes and trying new things led to dozens of family favorite recipes that all six of us will actually eat in the same meal (any parent reading this will understand if I do a cartwheel just thinking about this feat of culinary awesomeness).
You’ve got stories like that, too. Seasons in your life that yielded a YOU far better than was possible without the agony of a wait.
As these wise words say, “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it” (Hebrews 12:11, NIV).
A harvest of righteousness: Not self-righteousness or holier-than-thou-ishness, but real, hearty, healthy living that allows good things to flourish.
A harvest of peace: That steady, trusting, quietness of heart that keeps us anchored no matter what life brings our way.
Two crops that grow in us as the other fruit we long for takes its time, making us people who can better handle the harvest when it comes.
But don’t just take my word for it. I know you have stories of this happening in your life. Would you take a moment to share with us — to encourage all of us as we wait for life’s fruit together?