This week the pair that we looked at was in Verse 2: "a time to plant and a time to uproot". That idea is completely relevant in my life right now. I think I've said before how much is changing for me. Nothing seems constant, and it's sometimes really hard to figure out which changes are from God, and which come from the selfishness of man. Then if I do believe that God is working a change I have to set about accepting it. Sometimes I mess up and start something that isn't in God's plan. In this case we have the assurance from Matthew 15:13, "Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be pulled up by the roots." Often our new endeavours don't work out for a very good reason. It can be hard to remember that God has a hand in all that we do. He hinders that which would harm us, and aids the things that enrich our lives, all according to his plan. David writes in Psalm 1:3 that the man who is in God's keeping "is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers." I don't know about you, but I often wish that God would give me a sign that I'm on the right track. Here's the surprise - He does that for us every day! Every time that we experience contentment and a smooth road to success, God is telling us that we are on the right track. His plans never fail, and only receive opposition from the attacks of Satan.
Okay, so God plants us where he wants us to be and waters us with his blessings, but what about when we have problems? What happens when sin comes in and stunts our growth? We live in the midst of sin every minute of every day; sin that diseases us and withers our spirit. Things in our lives that deserve hard work and dedication are left for dead. But there is still hope for the gifts from God that we think are damaged beyond help.
The parable of Luke 13:6-9 goes like this: "A man had a fig tree, planted in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it, but did not find any. So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, 'For three years now I've been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven't found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?' 'Sir,' the man replied, 'leave it alone for one more year, and I'll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down." Maybe it seems like a lot of work, but we can never know what blessings may come to us if we wait just a little while before we give up on something or someone. Maybe it's a relationship that you thought was dead. Or an activity that's simply too much effort. It could be a forgotten blessing. Look for ways to work on it, and see what good things may follow.
Obviously I have quite a bit to say about the subject of planting and fertilizing the proverbial gardens of our lives. But what is really hitting home (literally) for me at this moment is the idea of uprooting. What happens when it's time for something to end? Possibly that's a relief. But I'm inclined to believe that the mysterious writer of Ecclesiastes is speaking more about the aspects of our lives that we would really prefer not to let go of. Some of them are poisonous and harmful, and we hold onto them stubbornly believing that they're good for us. Yet sometimes it's simply time for a good thing to be done, so that another good thing can begin.
For the last 9 years of my life my home has been in Southern Illinois. I grew up in a small town from 6th grade until now. I have friends and mentors there that have shaped the person I am today. Yes, I'm happy at college, but that was the place that my heart called home. My father has taken a new job. While I continue on here in Wisconsin, my parents are packing up everything I've known and finding a house in Saint Louis. I'm too far away to help them move, and I'll have one final weekend to say my goodbyes to my hometown. My dad will no longer be my pastor. We can't even keep our cat. The uprooting of my earthly home has drawn my attention to how attached I am to earthly things. It's a natural human reaction, but it seems silly. My car wreck last year should have taught me that nothing is certain. I've always been slow to learn lessons like that though.
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