Long, But Thin: What My Zucchini Taught Me
Perhaps its the cooler weather or the holiday decorations in the stores but I’ve been thinking a lot about childhood. Not to mention that a few incidents have occurred around me, bringing forth those memories like the vegetables growing in my new garden (I know, shameless plug, but this city girl is pretty proud). I’m learning and unlearning in the dirt. I have two raised beds. In one of them I planted zucchini, but much more sparingly. In the other, I got a little carried away and the result is showing. My zucchini is overcrowded. In my reading, I realized a hard reality. I need to thin the plants. While preparing to engage in this practice that I didn’t want to do, I examined the stems, many of which were stretched like locs from the soil. Some of the plants were no longer standing tall, but instead stretched over the lip of the planter. Remember when your friends (or you) were permitted to use a flat iron and without proper training, hair was "long, but thin?” Welp, that’s how the plants presented. I thought my hard work was reflected in quantity. Thinning my plants was like cutting the hair that was seemingly down the back to barely sweeping the shoulders. Who wants to go to the Mendel (IYKYK) party with an unexpected hairstyle that one hasn’t yet tried out? Yet my process in the garden is reflected in the Word, as in John 15:1-2, which cosigns, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” Consequently, it may be necessary for us to consider in this season if God is cutting off or pruning, because knowing the difference in critical.
It took me getting dirty to come to the realization that for me, I’m experiencing pruning. God has seen what stands in need of restoring, refreshing, revitalizing and recovery. So while it may feel like everything around me is crumbling, I am compelled to acknowledge and accept that God sees purpose and is causing the conditions for it to come forth. I could maintain a garden bed that appears full, yet bares no fruit because there is no room for growth to come forth. There is not enough oxygen. Light is impeded from getting to where darkness persists. What I failed to consider is that the cutting was already done - the removal of that which didn’t serve me nor God; that which broke my heart into tiny pieces; that which birthed an ocean of tears. Yet just because the cutting is over and God walked with us in every step, doesn’t automatically mean the work is over. The plants were in competition with one another. As God is pruning me, He is pointing out what has been in competition with Him. Where must I make space and intention to not only hear from Him, but believe what He says even when the evidence before me appears false. Transparently speaking, it feels like sitting inside on punishment while your friends are living their best lives outside. It hurts. And even as God cares about our tears, He is not necessarily moved to alter the conditions to our preferred state.
So, I got my gardening scissors and I cut them off at the root so as not to disturb those that remained. The first snips were painful. I questioned as to whether fruit would actually yield. However as I began to see the vision, I noticed fungus underneath that wasn’t visible without inspection. I noticed entangled plants nearly choking one another. Surprisingly, I even noticed another vegetable growing underneath that was not zucchini. I noticed the “more fruitful.” As in life, I was overly concerned with the outer and underwhelmed with what God was doing in the places and spaces that were invisible and unreachable at the surface. I’m reminded of the words of Courtney Wilson, “God is doing a great work.” I don’t wish to be the one that gets in God’s way. What good am I with surface living? I want to be rooted and grounded in the ultimate gardener. And in due season, I want to yield the fruit He’s purposed, pruned et al.