If you’ve seen or heard from me in the last three months, odds are you’ve heard me talk about my tomato plants. The devotion with which I have tended to, nurtured and cared for those tomatoes since I first planted their tender shoots in the soil this past spring has been surpassed by few other endeavors in my life. I’ve tried to raise tomatoes only one other time, almost a year ago exactly, and the project was a dismal failure. Only one tomato ever appeared, and it never reached full size, never started to ripen, and never reached its ultimate purpose of being fit for consumption. This year was different. Not only did we succeed in growing the largest tomato plant I’ve ever laid eyes on, but the production was unparalleled. We had as much fruit as we could stand to eat and then some.
But I couldn't be content. I struggled through an internal battle of trying to forecast how long the plant would continue to produce, how much it would produce, and how many tomatoes my two boys would like to eat each day (the tomatoes were really their idea after all), and as a result, I couldn't relax and enjoy the abundance. Oh, I was thankful. I marveled at the miraculous growth and production. But still, I wrestled with trying to achieve a version of perfection. I wanted every single tomato that appeared on the vine to be consumed at the exact peak of ripeness, with no waste and no lack. A totally reasonable request, right? Perhaps not, and I can see that now, but we often treat many aspects of our daily existence in just this way. What I mean is, we desire control over faith. We fear the future, we hoard our time, energy and resources, and sometimes perhaps we are too tentative in enjoying the present moment of grace.
But shouldn’t we plan for the future? Shouldn’t we aspire to the wisdom of the Proverbs 31 woman (as an aside, it can be argued this is actually wisdom personified and not a template for Christian womanhood)? Her household is never unprepared and she is so undaunted that she can actually laugh at the days to come. Some days this level of carefree contentment feels absurd to me. How is it possible? However, a careful reading of the passage illuminates the fact that wisdom is found not mainly in impeccable strategy but rather in simple faithfulness to the tasks in front of us. Whatever our gifts and talents, the means of achieving that inner peace we’re all seeking seems to be employing them in the humble service of those around us.
As a mother, I know what it is to feel like your life is simply one giant hamster wheel. I once heard a friend describe the sense of futility of keeping a clean house with children, noting that there was no other job on earth where people would follow you around undoing everything you had just accomplished. And I know mothers are far from alone in this struggle with meaninglessness. When, in the garden, God cursed Adam’s daily labors, all of humanity fell into an unnatural battle with the God-given gifts of productivity and duty. We worry about the future, we struggle in vain against our limits, and we forget that our making and doing is most fulfilling when connected to the Maker of all.
Perfect foresight isn’t possible, so we aren’t asked to possess it. Instead, we’re shown how to accept the limitations of our humanness and place our faith in the provision of a good and gracious Father. When the Israelites were wandering in the desert, God fed them each day with literal bread from heaven. I always thought the manna story was a bit strange. They weren’t permitted to gather the excess and save it for a rainy (or hungry) day. If they did, the extra food would rot. In a sense, they couldn’t plan for the future or insure themselves against unexpected need. But that was the point. The same thread was picked up over a thousand years later when Jesus taught His disciples to pray for their daily bread. We often deceive ourselves into believing that we’re entirely self-made, self-reliant or self-sufficient. But this deception comes with a burden to provide, and corresponding fear of both scarcity and waste. If it’s all on us, we have to ensure that there’s enough for everyone in our care. If it’s all on us, we don’t want to waste any of our resources, effort or time on endeavors that don’t yield results. The good news of trusting Jesus with our whole lives is that nothing pursued with honest intent and purity of heart can be wasted. Nothing devoted to God’s glory and our joy in Him will be wasted, however imperfectly done. We can sow our seeds and look toward the future with light hearts and minds at ease, believing that He is pleased with our efforts even while He is fully sovereign over the outcomes. So next time I grow tomatoes I will take what I need, be generous, forsake greed and thank Him for the miraculous provision of our daily bread.