Friday, September 9, 2011's quiet time.

Reflection: I found a volunteer cantaloupe in our compost pile this week.  What kind of awesome farming is that...also a pretty failed compost pile.  I have been tossing scraps in this spot for a year now getting it ready for a new garden plot next year.  I have literally done nothing except dump scraps out there, and it grew fruit.  Really good fruit that we ate down to the last piece.  Fruit packed with juice and nutrients.  Fruit I didn't work for.

Sometimes when we despair of the "fruit of our labor," God shows us that it isn't our fruit we are growing after all.  While my ranting yesterday was heartfelt, I am not discouraged about the fruit God can grow in unlikely places.

Last night I watched a family exploding at the park.  A mom, a dad, a daughter and a grandpa were living through the worst kind of hell right there in front of everyone.  Luke and I felt totally helpless in the face of such pain and anger.  Praying seemed so inadequate.  Like throwing scraps on the ground and hoping for fruit.  I was challenged by my disbelief in prayer (is God's action dependent on mine).  I prayed honestly and shakily for that family.  I will probably never know how God worked in their lives, but I do know that God showed me the value of my obedience through a small, ugly, delicious cantaloupe.

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