In the very front corner of our property is a thistle patch. When we first bought the property, there was thick plastic up there that kept anything from growing there and when I pulled up the plastic, only thistles grew. I have battled the thistles and had made great progress, but they got away from me in the past two years and there was a great thislte patch there again this year (my soil must be PERFECT for growing thisltes!!) Anyway, I was mowing that thicket last week and I noticed that on Bill's side of the fence, nothing was growing on the ground, not even weeds. It is so dark under there--under the firs, the apple tree, the ancient lilac and the climbing roses that have made a little hedge along our fence, blocking out nearly all light.
I have been mulling over the implications of that...a place so dark that not even the weeds will grow...wondering what God was trying to show me with this.
I have been thinking about that plastic, laid down who knows how long ago, and by whom, and for what purpose? --but having the effect also of making a place so dark that not even the weeds will grow. And then I came along and took it up, and what grew? Thistles. God's light shines into a place that has been devoid of light (and moisture) for who knows how long, and what fruit is born? Thistles-- prickly, stickly thistles. But when the ground is tended, watered, grazed, mowed, the thistles leave and grass grows. And then, again, when the area is neglected, what grows back? Thistles.
I think the lesson is twofold. First, if there are thistles growing, there is hope. A friend once said that some things are beyond prayer. I don't know what she meant, but I respect her enough to believe her. There are places so dark that even weeds won't grow. So, if there are stickly, prickly thistles, there is hope.
Second, a once-for-all submission to God does not work. A place tended will bear fruit, but when untended will revert to thistles. We can't just say, "Okay, God, I'm yours. Use me." and be done with it. We have to keep submitting and keep looking for those areas that need submitting. We have to keep cutting the thistles down. We have to keep using the land--mowing it, grazing it, watering it, weeding it.
I have been mulling over the implications of that...a place so dark that not even the weeds will grow...wondering what God was trying to show me with this.
I have been thinking about that plastic, laid down who knows how long ago, and by whom, and for what purpose? --but having the effect also of making a place so dark that not even the weeds will grow. And then I came along and took it up, and what grew? Thistles. God's light shines into a place that has been devoid of light (and moisture) for who knows how long, and what fruit is born? Thistles-- prickly, stickly thistles. But when the ground is tended, watered, grazed, mowed, the thistles leave and grass grows. And then, again, when the area is neglected, what grows back? Thistles.
I think the lesson is twofold. First, if there are thistles growing, there is hope. A friend once said that some things are beyond prayer. I don't know what she meant, but I respect her enough to believe her. There are places so dark that even weeds won't grow. So, if there are stickly, prickly thistles, there is hope.
Second, a once-for-all submission to God does not work. A place tended will bear fruit, but when untended will revert to thistles. We can't just say, "Okay, God, I'm yours. Use me." and be done with it. We have to keep submitting and keep looking for those areas that need submitting. We have to keep cutting the thistles down. We have to keep using the land--mowing it, grazing it, watering it, weeding it.
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