Programed to Flourish

I enjoy gardening, but I didn't realize I was trying to "flourish" as if I were in my thirties, not my late seventies! Unfortunately, I usually don't realize I've done TOO much until it's TOO late! Thanks to a mild muscle relaxant, I can sit on my swing and enjoy the beautiful view. I must admit thinking, Who did all that?

The history of this property extends beyond the old farmhouse. Most of my perennials are originals planted by great-great-grandma Stevens nearly a century ago. The peonies alone must be 100 years old. She also planted beds of myrtle, silver irises, daylilies, and tons of lily of the valley.

You may like lily of the valley, with its little bell-shaped blossoms, but not me. They take

over and choke everything around them. So, my goal was to remove them. I had no idea they had ungodly, thick root systems, like a four-inch deep, unextractable woven mat. I pulled and tugged my way into two weeks of muscle pain. Argh.

The progress on this property has definitely flourished over the years. Thankfully, I don't have to contend with the massive Horse Chestnut tree in the front yard anymore. Its shade and blossoms were amazing, but the spike-shelled chestnuts could be dangerous to anyone daring to sit under the tree when the wind blows. I can still remember hearing those torpedoes crash through the branches on their way to the ground. "INCOMING!"

That old tree held sweet memories, however. When my sons were four and six, I'd hand each of them a bag and send them out to see how many chestnuts they could gather. It always became a race and often ended in a tussle. "He's got MORE...that's NOT FAIR!" The plan was to stomp on the prickly shells, pick out the chestnuts, then come inside and take turns at the sink washing them.

One day, as we sat at the kitchen table polishing chestnuts, I asked, "Did you know you could hold a tree in your hands?" Jonathan, age four, immediately scowled and bellowed, "NOT POTHABLE, MOM."

I giggled at his insistence and held up a chestnut. "This is a seed. Everything the seed will become has already been programmed within it. If planted, a chestnut will grow into a Horse Chestnut tree, and if it's cared for, it will produce chestnuts as plentiful as our tree. This seed will never grow tomatoes or apples because it's programmed to flourish as a Horse Chestnut tree."

The boys listened closely as they fingered the shiny, mahogany-colored chestnuts. "YOU were programmed by God to be young men with blue eyes and blond hair. He has programmed you to flourish in your own unique personalities and with many talents and abilities. The Bible says God knew you before you started growing in my tummy, and He's been writing your story long before the world was made."

A sweet silence settled over us, and I could tell they were trying to process the mystery of it all. As life with boys often does, the quiet didn't last long. Kyle started the ruckus. "And God programmed you, Jon, to be a fat-head!" Our quiet lesson quickly erupted as they scuffled out the door.

As I write this, I can't express how much I cherish the simple, sweet memories I've shared with my boys. The old farmhouse has been remodeled, our furniture is new, and all the knicks and scratches from Tonka trucks on the woodwork have been painted over. The house is lovely, but I'd trade it all for more days spent polishing horse chestnuts with my boys. I marvel at the amazing, miraculous transformation the Lord has brought to our lives, and I remember well the barbed exterior I brought to Him. I cherish every moment I've spent walking with the Lord, every filled journal, every well-worn Bible stained with tears.

"Thank you, Lord, for programming your children to flourish richly so we can bring You glory, and give You all the praise."