The Spring before my daddy died, he planted potatoes. The air was cool and my children watched, their bottoms plopped down on the dirt, my daughter with her arms wrapped around her baby brother.
If you asked my daddy if he was a farmer he’d have said no because he wasn’t a farmer and the potatoes weren’t a necessary crop.
If being a farmer depended upon breaking up the soil, walking out the spaces between the slices of potatoes planted, well, yes he was a farmer.
He belonged among the farmers.
I woke up this morning thinking about the harvest, about the keeping at it to reap what I sow.
My daddy was meticulous about how the potatoes were planted.
Just a small plot of land my cousin wasn’t planning to use, next to my house, so I got to watch him stand over it, waiting for what was happening underneath.
I read this morning about perseverance, about persistence.
Thinking about this season my friend is calling our harvest, I sensed a sure stirring, a need to grow.
I’d been distracted, disgruntled, pulled away and pitiful, decided I was never gonna reap from all that I had sown.
Jesus told a story about seeds and what we do with them and how we get disenchanted with the idea of us making something grow.
We don’t stay with it, we let our hopes go.
He told of people who only stick with it for awhile or people who’d just toss their seeds toward the not broken up soil as if to say, that’s it now God, make it grow!
“And the ones on the rock are those who, when they hear the word, receive it with joy. But these have no root; they believe for a while, and in time of testing fall away. And as for what fell among the thorns, they are those who hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by the cares and riches and pleasures of life, and their fruit does not mature.”
I thought about my daddy and his potatoes, bothered that I couldn’t remember, did we go back to reap the harvest, dig up the little baby red potatoes? Did he get to see how well his last crop had grown, how abundant his harvest was that last year?
Jesus continues, explaining how we are made to flourish, lead others to flourishing.
“As for that in the good soil, they are those who, hearing the word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart, and bear fruit with patience.”
Luke 8:15 ESV
The soil was always good where my daddy planted his garden. He had an honest and good heart, he was patient with his potatoes.
Daddy belonged among the farmers, I believe.
Maybe I, among the writers, the planters, the sowers and the patient, holding fast to be mature believers.