lessons from my front yard

Today I spent some time in my parents’ front yard doing some yard work. My parents’ home was one of many that Hurricane Katrina decided to ravage back in August, yet she spared most of the house and decided to spend most of her seemingly inexhaustible energy on the yard. There were about 40 trees that went down (most of them pine trees, this being the Pine Belt), and a miracle in itself was that only three of these crashed through the roof. Fortunately my parents were not hurt one bit, nor was anyone else on their street, as far as I know.

But the yard looked like a total war zone afterwards. If I’d have seen it with my own eyes, I probably would have cried—the photos my mom sent me were astonishing enough. Trees literally ripped out of the ground and tossed aside. Branches, pinecones, roots, and all sorts of debris thrown in all sorts of places except where they were supposed to be.

Today I got to help my dad with some of the ever-continuing restoration of our front yard. Here are a couple of reflections on this time:

--It’s funny how I can try and try to hear from God in all kinds of circumstances and situations and environments and yet still feel like I’m hearing nothing for months, and then one day I get out to do some yard work and suddenly I sense the Lord teaching me all kinds of lessons and giving me all kinds of impressions. Today was one of those days. I decided it must be one of several things (or possibly a combination): getting away from the noises of a busy life and into nature, where all I can hear is the chirping of birds, the sound of my shovel hitting the dirt, and an occasional car engine somewhere (because, heck, even when I try to have a quiet time recently, I usually have some sort of worship music blaring); knowing that I had nothing pressing in my schedule helped me to remain in the moment (because normally I’m constantly thinking about where I’m going next, or what I’m doing tomorrow or later today); doing mindless manual labor, one chore at a time, helped me to focus my thoughts (because usually my thoughts are darting all over the place as I do at least a handful of things at once). I think I need to get out and do manual labor in nature more often.

--Adam’s first job was to take care of the Garden of Eden; this was the role God gave him just after he was created by God (Genesis 2:15). Thus, working in the yard ties us deeply to our original purpose as humans. No wonder I always feel so close to God when I’m doing yard work. I should do this more often.

--As I looked at the pine trees around my house (and the holes in the ground from those that didn’t survive the ravaging Katrina), something stood out to me that reminded me of something I’ve heard before. The trees that were still standing were all either in large clusters or at least had a few other trees immediately around them. The ones that had not survived had been lone trees in the sense that they did not seem to have a community of trees just around them. I recall hearing somewhere a statistic that said trees in the forest are less likely to fall in a storm than trees on a prairie. Makes sense to me. How true is this for the follower of Christ—he who stands alone is more likely to fall than he who belongs to a living community of believers.

--One of the projects I worked on this morning was gathering up all the limbs, pinecones, roots, and other remnants of the pine trees that had fallen. Some of these were conspicuous and easily discarded, lying directly on the ground in front of me. But far more than this were buried just below a layer or more of pine straw and even below an inch or so of soil in some places. And I pulled up some roots from the fallen and dead trees—some of these roots were nestled deep into the ground, putting up a mighty big fight before they finally came up (some even needed some work with an axe before coming up). This made me think of all the things in our own lives that are residual—a twig here, a branch or deep root there—pieces of dead things that need to be thrown out, that needed to be tossed a long time ago. Baggage that is weighing us down or preventing new things from growing because it is in the way or soaking up and wasting valuable nutrients that need to be directed towards new things, living things, in our lives.

--Restoring something that has been wrecked, whether somewhat or to a massive extent, takes time and patience. God promises restoration and redemption, and although the redemption is immediate if we accept it, the restoration may take years. My parents’ yard was wrecked, and yet my dad is making progress in restoring it and eventually making it more beautiful than before. One section at a time, one project at a time. To try it any other way and with any other attitude would be too overwhelming.

--I spent a good part of the morning filling holes in the ground with dirt. I had to fill a wheelbarrow with dirt from a pile on one side of the yard and haul it over a somewhat rugged terrain to dump it into a hole in the ground where a tree used to be. It is pretty grueling labor once you get to load number fifteen. But when I finished filling one hole and we raked the dirt even across it, the ground was level and looked ready for anything to be planted there. Through this I sensed the Lord reminding me that He loves to fill in the holes in our lives and that this isn’t always the most pleasant experience while we’re going through it—sometimes it can be pretty grueling. Yet when it’s said and done, when the rake has been scraped across, so to speak, the way is made smooth and ready for whatever new things God wants to plant in the place of that hole.

--Perhaps my favorite random observation: There used to be so many ants in our yard—they’d attack me every time I did yard work. Today I didn’t see any ants. Not a single one. Where did they all go? Did Katrina blow them away, and if so, did they survive and start new colonies in some other place? This one really didn’t have any spiritual significance…

These are just a few reflections I thought I’d share.