“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1 (KJV)

This morning, I decided it was time to reset my garden.

Life had gotten in the way, and honestly, so had disappointment.

Some things I planted never became what I imagined. The squash bed became the scene of what I jokingly call the vine borer massacre. The kale and collards eventually lost their battle with the beetles. There are potato bags I am almost afraid to open because I don’t know whether there is a harvest underneath all that dirt—or evidence of an experiment gone terribly wrong.

But before I call the season a failure, I need to tell the whole story.

We harvested greens five times.

There are three gallon-sized bags of tomato sauce in my freezer, made from tomatoes that grew right here in this garden.

There was one little green pepper.

There were about ten green beans—not exactly enough to open a produce stand.

There were carrots.

And basil, radishes and beets we would never eat, but were pretty and make novice gardeners feel like experts.

And there were more social-media-worthy pictures than I can count.

There was laughter. There was anticipation. There were lessons I didn’t know I was planting. There were mornings when I walked outside just to see what had changed. There were days when checking on something growing gave my mind somewhere peaceful to go when life was doing entirely too much.

Not everything the garden produced could be put on a plate.

Some of the harvest fed me differently.

Funny how quickly disappointment can make us forget the harvest.

We can become so focused on what died, what got eaten, what never produced, and what didn’t turn out the way we planned that we overlook all the evidence that something did grow.

So no, this garden was not a total failure.

Neither was this season.

And neither am I.

I don’t have to throw away the whole garden just because everything in it didn’t make it.

I can pull out what is finished.

I can clean up what was damaged.

I can keep what still has life.

I can remember what already fed me.

I can refresh depleted soil.

And I can plant again.

There’s even one Brussels sprout plant that’s been hanging around since last November.

She never produced one identifiable Brussels sprout.

By the original expectation, I could call her a failure.

Except we discovered that her leaves were delicious mixed with our greens.

She didn’t produce what I expected.

She still fed us.

And maybe that’s a word for more than my garden.

There are seasons in life that don’t produce everything we expected either. Goals don’t get reached. Plans get interrupted. Things we carefully planted get attacked by circumstances we never saw coming. Energy gets spent dealing with things we never intended to carry.

It’s easy to stare at what didn’t happen until disappointment convinces us that nothing happened.

But that’s not always the truth.

Sometimes there are three bags of sauce sitting in the freezer while we’re mourning the squash.

Sometimes we are so busy counting the ten green beans that we forget the greens fed us five times.

Sometimes what we planted never becomes what we expected, but like my stubborn old Brussels sprout plant, it finds another way to feed us.

And sometimes the harvest isn’t something we can count at all.

Sometimes it is peace.

Sometimes it is laughter.

Sometimes it is a lesson.

Sometimes it is simply having somewhere to put our hands while God settles our hearts.

So today, I’m taking a lesson from my garden.

A disappointing harvest does not mean the soil has lost its purpose.

And an unmet expectation does not erase a harvest that has already happened.

Some things need to be pulled.

Some things deserve another season.

Some things may never become what I originally expected, yet still have value.

And some empty places are simply waiting for new seed.

So I’m not dragging everything that disappointed me into the next season.

I’m cleaning the bed.

I’m keeping what still has life.

I’m remembering what already fed me.

I’m refreshing the soil.

And, by the grace of God, I’m planting again.

And Then I Went Outside…

A few hours after writing those words, I finally made it to the garden.

I had gotten distracted. Life was still doing what life does. Both of my boys needed rides to work, and somewhere in there I stopped to get breakfast. The great potato excavation would have to wait.

But when I finally went outside, the garden had another lesson waiting for me.

There were tomatoes.

Lots of tiny ones. A couple of the last larger ones. Two more green ones still hanging on the vine that I decided to leave there and give a little more time.

And Pip—my little pepper plant that had managed to produce just one tiny green baby—had quietly ripened that baby all the way to red.

I had gone outside thinking about what needed to be cleaned up.

Meanwhile, the garden was still producing.

There I stood with a bowl of tomatoes and one little red pepper from plants I had already mentally begun wrapping up for the season.

And tonight, I’m making spaghetti.

These tomatoes won’t make it into another gallon freezer bag. They’ll be chopped up and added to the jarred sauce we’re eating tonight.

And suddenly there was another lesson.

Some harvest isn’t meant to be stored for later. Some of it shows up just in time for what you need today.

Maybe that’s why we have to be careful about declaring a season over simply because it didn’t produce the way we expected.

There may still be something growing that we haven’t noticed.

There may still be something ripening while we’re looking at what died.

There may still be provision hanging on a vine we were preparing to pull.

And sometimes God doesn’t give us enough to stock the freezer.

Sometimes He gives us enough for tonight’s spaghetti.

That’s still provision.

That’s still harvest.

That’s still something worth thanking Him for.

So perhaps today’s garden reset isn’t only about pulling out what didn’t make it.

Maybe it’s also about slowing down long enough to recognize what did.

What survived.

What fed me differently.

What is still growing.

And what showed up right on time.

Prayer

Lord, forgive me for the times disappointment has made me forget the harvest.

Thank You for every place where something grew, every provision I almost overlooked, every unexpected thing that still managed to feed me, and even the harvests I couldn’t put on a plate.

Thank You for what I was able to preserve for another season.

And thank You for what You provide simply because I need it today.

Give me wisdom to recognize what has finished its season and courage to release it.

Show me what still has life, even when it doesn’t look the way I expected.

Keep me from pulling up something You are still allowing to grow just because I decided its season should be over.

Restore the places in me that have been depleted. Refresh the soil of my heart. And prepare me for whatever You want to plant next.

Help me remember that a disappointing harvest is not the end of the garden.

There is still good soil here.

There may even be something still ripening on the vine.

And with You, there is always reason to look again before I call the season finished.

Amen.

Love, Chelle
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