I garden for a lot of reasons. Good exercise, joy of seeing things grow, a heritage from both sets of grandparents–the green thumb skipped everyone else and invaded only my genetic make-up, it seems.
But mostly, I garden because it keeps me humble. Green thumb or not, I am actually not all that good a gardener. I’ve just spent this hot morning in the vegetable garden ripping out tomato plans and bean vines. Really awful results. I did get some very nice corn and have enjoyed the special treat of fresh picked corn on the cob. Squash and cucumbers OK, and most herbs doing well. But the tomatoes . . . my very, very, very favorite vegetable. So terribly sad. Just didn’t set fruit well this year. I’m going to purchase some more plants soon and put them out for fall tomatoes and hope I do better.
However, as I labor and sweat and yank things out of the ground, I find myself grateful for being such a poor gardener. I do this because it brings me pleasure, not for the actual result. I like a reason to be outside, the physical exercise is good for me, the taste of a glass of cold water and the joy of shade after a couple of hours of work fills me with delight.
It’s good to do something that is not simply utilitarian. Just for love–that what an amateur is–someone who does something just for the love of it, not to be paid or recognized.
That’s also how I seek to love God. Simply for the sheer pleasure of loving. While I’m paid to be a pastor, I am, along with everyone else, an actual amateur at loving God, for there is a depth there than none of us can probe adequately. This is the experience of joy.
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