A sower went out to sow

 We just got back from Toronto three days ago. It was a... how does one describe handling God's things? For one month, God handed us His "to do" list and we busied ourselves with this "important work" for four weeks, only to look back and realize that God was doing the work the whole time and our "work" was only a carefully designed lesson He made just for us. It was a humbling, busy, exhausting, joyful time. So... people inquire, "How was Toronto?" and I smile and say, "Good."

Yesterday, I helped my Mom weed the garden in front of her house. It was a gorgeous day - sunshine, cool breeze, big billowy clouds and moist dark dirt to sink your fingers into. As I sat or knelt over the dark earth, I pondered the weeds I was so ruthlessly uprooting. I watched the crab grass' milky white roots come snaking out of the ground with every harsh pull of my hands, each plant bringing up three others that were secretly connected through a labyrinth of thin delicate white trails a mere inch under the ground. I pulled at the stubborn dandelion stems and listened to their thick strong roots suck and pop in protest when they broke; then they emerged, oozing and bleeding white filmy blood - evidence of more roots beneath that are now marooned in the soil. One sapling was in my path, a young oak tree. The shoot grew bravely erect while the roots grew down from a gently cracked nut still resting near the surface - opened by the fingers of God. The nut and root held on when I yanked out the shoot, stubbornly choosing to die together rather than face separation. There were delicate purple flowers and soft yellow blooms, red stalked ground cover with waxy green leaves - yanked up and left to wilt. How bright the piles of carnage were, all heaped on the sidewalk. Greens, browns, reds, yellows and reds. Which weeds would the chickens eat? Which would be left to decompose only to feed the next generation next year? What made these dear dead plants "weeds"? Why would we not let them grow here too?

I looked over the now naked gardens strewn with the elect - flowers bought in flats and carefully planted, evenly spaced and fed and watered. There they were gasping and small, relieved to be left, to survive. Did I see them stretch? Reaching their tiny leaves up and out, marveling at all the sunshine they could greedily soak in without any choking weeds to stop them. Yes, they would have died soon had I not battled the weeds for them, but were they especially beautiful? Were they a choice plant that we must kill all others to let live? They didn't look particular in any way. Ugly, even, next to the wild beauty of the blooms that I had left dead and dying on the walkway. I watched my Mom sweep up their remains and I went inside, my dirty deed done.

Then the still small voice, the gentle hand that opened the seeds put His finger on my heart; what was God sweeping up in my heart? Suddenly, this garden was my soul. With every yank of my hand, I saw the wound in the soil of my heart. With every heartless pull of my fingers, I felt the fingers of God pulling, ripping, wordlessly destroying the weeds in my life. "Why are they weeds?" I begged. "Why must that one go? Look at it, Lord! I grew it because it was pleasing. It appeased my fears and dulled my senses to Your incessant call. No, Lord not this one - its roots are strong. It defends me from being honest to my husband. No, Lord, look at the blooms, spare the flowers!" I looked over my garden - my soul - heartbroken, for it was almost naked before God. Nothing was left but little shoots of love, reaching thirstily to the Son. Tiny buds of joy, too afraid to bloom for fear of the thorns and thistles - cares of this world. Tendrils of peace, seeking to soothe and cover the soil of my soul but hampered by the strong vines and moss of doubt that choked them out. Other plants were also spared - patience with its strong roots and sure Foundation. The heady aroma of goodness that draws sinners to God. The milky roots of kindness that are for all people. Faithfulness, needed in every garden seeking to please God. Sprays of gentleness, tiny saplings of self-control. These things God spared, and I saw how small and weak they were. How sickly and needy of the Son's rays.

Then I was ashamed at my tears for the weeds. I was ashamed at my lack of faith in knowing what what God was doing - and letting Him do it. I wiped my eyes and saw that God had chosen what was to be in my garden of life, the choice was not mine. I saw my lack of humility, the fertilizer for my soil. Nurturing privately what I thought was good, what I thought was needed and pleasing, I was killing the things that were truly God honoring in my life. As my Maker ripped the weeds from my heart, I screamed and wept for what was lost, for what I needed and what He was failing to provide. Even my prayers were prayed in error because I begged for my "needs" when they were nothing by weeds. It was the storm and trial of His hand, yielding the peaceable fruit of righteousness that my garden was void of. He came with the storm to weed my heart.

"What? shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?" 

Job 2:10

"For land that has drunk the rain that often falls on it, and produces a crop useful to those for whose sake it is cultivated, receives a blessing from God. But if it bears thorns and thistles, it is worthless and near to being cursed, and its end is to be burned." 

Hebrews 6:7-8

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We were accepted to Huazhong University of Science and Technology in Wuhan, China last week. We had all but given up, then we finally heard that not just one, but both of us were accepted. We'll be leaving Aug 26, and we'll be staying until next July. We applied for one term, but were accepted for almost a year. Thank God, the wait is over -- now we have to go half way around the world.