This week God used grass seed to get my attention. 

See, one of the genius things about Jesus was His ability to teach profound spiritual truth through ordinary examples. Mustard seeds, fig trees, fields, sparrows, weeds, soil … all of these agricultural things (and so much more) were used to illustrate the deeper spiritual realities at work in our world.

He still does this today.

We’ve lived here at the Ark for 18 months now, and we’re still waiting and dreaming and praying about how God wants to use this piece of land. It’s His, and we want to steward it well. A few weeks ago, a friend came over with his tractor and cleared a lower area that was overgrown with brambles. With the weeds out of the way, we were able to see the contour of the land and get a bit more vision for what it could be, and with the help of my Dad’s expertise, were able to envision a wide-open, 1/4 acre or so, smooth field, with the help of some professional excavation.

He finished excavating Tuesday afternoon, and we figured we’d just wait it out through the winter, then plant grass-seed come spring.

But Wednesday afternoon, a wise suggestion came our way that it would probably be better to seed it now, helping offset any erosion during the winter. But, it would need to be done in the next day or two, to allow 60 days before the first frost. I felt a little panic and indecision — Jeff was busy with work. We would all be gone that weekend, so it meant I sprint and do it that day, or wait until spring. I prayed, asking God for wisdom, waiting, and sensed God nudging, plant now. So, Heidi and I hopped in the car, ran to the feed store for fertilizer, a generous friend brought us seed, and at 4:30pm that day, though I only had an hour free before heading in for Bible study, I started seeding the field.

I soon grew overwhelmed at the task. Raking, fertilizing, and seeding a quarter-acre field by hand was no small task. I came in covered in mud and exhausted, but I figured that, since Jeff was home that night, he and the kids could finish up the job.

Therein was my fatal flaw.

Even though God had given me the green light to seed the field, I mentally made my expectation that Jeff would do the work as well. In fact, I expected he would do most of the work. When he arrived home and let me know he had other (legitimate) plans, I silently made my disappointment known.

The next day, the pity party slowly began to take shape. Silently I seethed. Since NO ONE had done ANY WORK the night before, I was left to DO IT ALL BY MYSELF during my only free hours that morning. The miserable 40-degree rains poured down as I pulled on rain gear, boots and gloves. The rain had turned the whole field to ankle-deep mud, and as I tried to navigate the wheelbarrow down the steep hill, I fell hard. My entire backside was covered in mud and frustrated tears filled my eyes, as if me falling was my family’s fault because they weren’t helping me. Then, I pulled the car up near the field (all the seed was in the back of the car to stay dry), and heard a thump. What now?? Someone had left a hand-rototiller lying on the gravel and the long, sharp metal spikes were now sticking out of my brand-new, $300 front tire.

NO!!!!!!!!

I was so mad. I called Jeff and frustrated words flew from my mouth. He calmly, lovingly, and graciously drove home and took the car to have the tire fixed, and the kids quietly came out, dressed in Carhartts and boots, ready to help me as well. We three set to work, and in several hours, seeded the field. The kids’ attitudes were awesome: cheerful and helpful.

They were a quiet, Christlike example to me.

Later, Jeff handed me the three spikes that Les Schwab had removed from my tire. They had fixed it for FREE, of course, and the three spikes reminded me of a certain three spikes, driven into the feet and hands of my Savior, so that I might be FREE.

Grace.

Amazing Grace.

Then, two hours after planting the grass seed, a tornado hit.

I’m not even kidding. In my entire life I have never seen such a thing. Jeff called and said to stay inside, and sure enough — it hit. House-shaking thunder, bright lightning flashing, and rain that looked like a fire-hose against our windows. We stood at the windows and watched as all our work washed off the field.

I curled up with a quilt and talked to my Father about all this.

“But I thought I was obeying you, God. You said the plant the seed.”

“Yes, Daughter, but just because you do the right thing doesn’t mean you can do it in the wrong way.”

Ah. Yes. There is a wrong way to do right.

I remembered back to a recent situation where I got in an argument with another believer, about a certain issue, on Facebook. I was floored to realize how the situation exactly paralleled the grass-seed debacle. I was so frustrated with this person because—in my limited perspective—they weren’t helping with the work of planting the seed, figuratively speaking. But my attitude was wrong. It wasn’t loving, wasn’t gracious, wasn’t kind. I had prayed about the issue, and felt clearly that this was “right” but His words echoed back in my heart …

“Yes, Daughter, but just because you do the right thing doesn’t mean you can do it in the wrong way.”

There is a wrong way to do right.

And so, once again, I stand humbled. It seems to happen a lot these days. But I’m grateful. God has been so good to me, to stick spikes in my tire to remind of His grace. It’s His kindness that leads to repentance. God disciplines His legitimate children because He loves them, and that includes me. Praise be to God! So, good friend, however He might be chastening you today, don’t despise it — it’s kindness. Don’t be like me and wallow in self-pity, throw yourself in the depths of His grace, and ask Him for the grace to go His way. To not only do right, but to do right the right way.

His way.

{Here’s to a great week … thanks for reading.}

PS Speaking of grace, after all the grass seed washed away, we watched an amazing documentary called Back to Eden, and God gave us a whole new direction for our plot of land. He is so good! He turns our mishaps into miracles. Redemption!

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