Can I let you in on a little secret? I have a black thumb. No, make that two black thumbs.
As much as I love to cook with fresh ingredients and would adore using fresh produce from my own garden, I’ve come to grips with the truth (only three wilted tomato plants, four dead herb seedlings, a couple of droopy cuttings, a bug-infested apple tree, and one stagnant avocado pit later). The sad truth: I cannot grow things.
I tried this summer, really I did. For the third year, I potted a tomato plant. (Other Coloradans keep telling me how they don’t know what to do with all the tomatoes their voluptuous bushes yield. Yeah, secretly I kinda wanna smack ‘em.)
This year the plant was called Health Kick. You’d think a plant with health in the name would be, well, healthy, and produce beautifully, right? Naw. Not for me. This year it was the invisible bug that ate the leaves. Never did find that sucker. [sigh]
Still, every morning I faithfully trudge to the backyard with my yellow plastic watering can to give a good soak to the soil. (Ha! I just accidentally typed “soak to the soul.” Technically that’s the point of this rambling story about my pathetic gardening skills. Cue ridiculous segue: “I was thinking how we’re all like tomato plants . . .”)
Philip Yancey (who wrote What’s So Amazing About Grace? and is on my Favorite Grace Mentors list), gave an interesting reply when asked why most Christians don’t seem peaceful.
Many Christians understand grace only on the theological, abstract level but have not let it penetrate the soul. . . . We need to let it soak in that there is nothing we can do to make God love us more…and nothing we can do to make God love us less. God is love—a noun, not a verb—and cannot help loving. We should walk around humming that tune Amazing Grace all day long. (full interview)
I wish I could say I wake up every day and think “There’s nothing I have to do to make God love me today, and there’s nothing I can possibly do to make Him stop!” But I don’t. Though I’d really like to.
Maybe as corny as it sounds, we could learn a little something from my poor tomato plant. Maybe we too were meant to thrive on a good soak every morning – a watering of our souls with the truth of God’s love.
At least we’ll never have to worry about yellow, spotty leaves.
What do you think of this idea of a daily soul soak?
Photo credit: public domain photo, Cherry Tomato, by James Maxon