Though My Fields Be Empty

So many times I wonder why God does things. We all do. When Life gets hard, we often ask the Lord, "Why me?" as though it should have been someone else. When situations arise that shake us to our core, it's easy to think God must have been mistaken. This is not how life is supposed to be.

It's easy to see this tendency in the circumstances that threaten to overtake our lives as we know them. But, what about during the more mundane happenings that pass each day? We often miss the Hand of God and His fingerprints in life's minor inconveniences.

This year, as in years past, I planted a garden or, more accurately, a crop. It was not your average "throw some seeds in the ground and see how they do" affair. Not in the least.

It began with reading and planning and dirt testing. Then days filled with hand tilling and soil enhancement. By the time planting days deemed appropriate by the Farmer's Almanac arrived, I was exhausted both mentally and physically. My hands had more blisters than a sunburned albino and every muscle in my body protested even the slightest movement.

And, I prayed through every step in the process. I prayed harder as the work got harder. With more pain came more prayer. In the end, I cried to the Lord. Tears rolled with sweat down my face as I begged for His strength just to finish, and I praised Him when I did.

The weeks passed as I watered. My garden looked lovely. It was exciting to see the sprouts spring up and still more exhilarating to watch them bloom and grow. Praise the Lord for His goodness!

"Wait...is that...gasp!...mold?! Ok. Don't panic, just water every other day instead. Great, now they look dry and burnt."
It went from bad to worse. First the cucumber vines succumbed, then the potatoes. "Not the corn, Lord! Really?"

In the end, we lost it all. Frustration set in and then anger. "Lord, did I not pray? Did I not ask for your blessing and favor? Did I not promise to tithe the first fruits?" I reasoned. I don't often get angry with God, but I could see no fault of my own for this failure.

Often I sit on the front porch of our country home for my quiet time with Him. Since the devastation that was my garden sits close to the porch, I had avoided seeing it and opted instead for the comfort of the kitchen table for devotions, until the morning He nudged me back outside.

As I sat contemplating the mess with hurt in my heart, He led me straight to a verse which I don't know if I could find again if I tried. It said, in essence, "Yea, though my fields be empty, Lord, yet will I praise thee."

I no longer see failure in the brown cornstalks poking up out of the ground, I see the gentleness of a Father who loves me. I see His sovereignty. I see a lesson. And, I see that, although I do the tilling and the plating and the watering, it is He alone who gives the harvest.

Father, please forgive my presumptuousness and the ensuing temper tantrum. I am humbled before you, my King. Thank you for the opportunity to serve in Your fields. It is an honor and a privilege. Thank you for granting the strength to complete the tasks you set before me. And, "Though my fields be empty, Lord, yet will I praise thee." AMEN!