Dig down

I’ve been thinking a lot about dirt lately.  We try to grow a garden every year; we’ve planted over a dozen trees and shrubs around our house, and I can tell you a lot about the dirt in El Paso.

It sucks.

It’s mostly sand.  Water flows over it or right through it and evaporates quickly.  There is very little organic matter in it.  The only things that naturally grow well in it are desert sage, anything covered in spines, and invasive bastards like morning glories and basil.  Even so, these only thrive where there is a reliable source of water.  Anything else has needed copious amounts of additions to the soil. For the first three years we were here we filled Rick’s truck with peat moss, manure, garden soil, fertilizer, and mulch.  We composted.  We jerry-rigged some hoses and pool pumps to recycle bath and laundry water as well as catch the sporadic rain to help keep everything watered in the long, parched summers.  We aren't great gardeners, but we have gotten better.  The results are in our pantry: tens of pounds of potatoes, mint tea, pesto, pomegranates, jars of peaches and grape jam.  The soil is thicker, darker, fragrant with water; and yet every year we have to replenish it.

In Matthew 13:3-9  (and Mark 4) we are given the parable of the sower.

“Behold, a sower went forth to sow;

And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up:

Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth:

And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away.

And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them:

But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit, some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold.

Who hath ears to hear, let him hear.”

Now, thanks to Christ’s explanation, this is generally understood to represent those who hear the gospel.  Some utterly disregard it, and it never takes root.  Others embrace it quickly, but cannot endure all it asks of them and their testimony of it withers.  Still others hear the gospel, embrace it, but it is choked out by other cares and distractions of the world that are given higher priority. The last group are those who are ready for the gospel, embrace it, and magnify it to bless themselves and others.

Now, sometimes it’s really tempting to use this more or less as one of those ubiquitous personality tests to separate people into manageable groups.  I think that’s overly simplistic, and disregards that people can change.  It’s more about what we are willing to do for a better relationship with Christ and Heavenly Father.  People who casually disregard the gospel in their youth can often change their lives—enriching their soil, as it were—to better allow the gospel to take root in their lives.  Likewise, those who had a fervent belief when they are young can allow their rich soil to parch and erode through lack of care.  Any gardener will tell you that it isn’t enough to water something once.  A single bag of compost might get you through the season, but it won’t manage long-term.  It takes constant care and intentional effort to get any kind of satisfying harvest.

I was recently reading through some of my early journals from shortly after my baptism.  I was surprised to read over and over again some variation of “Church was rough today.  I was so angry.  So and So is stupid. I didn’t like ___________ or I don’t understand _____________”  I don’t remember it being that way, but apparently it was.  20 years later I enjoy church.  I enjoy most of the lessons and talks.  If they’re sometimes less nuanced or entertaining than I’d prefer, well, not everyone is a polished, confidant speaker, and just because the ideas are shared simply doesn’t make them less important.

I think the difference between my younger and present self is that over the years I enriched my spiritual soil.  I was shallow soil, enough that the send could sprout.  By continuing to go to church even when I didn’t want to, I was deepened.  Reading my scriptures—and re-reading them over and over again—I was nourished by the Word of God.  I kept praying, even though I didn’t always feel like I got answers; the times I did receive them were as miraculous as rain in the desert.  Trying to live the principles of charity and grace, compassion and patience that were taught softened my heart and helped me love others more—and accept their love and compassion in turn, and even extend some to myself.  Through intentional, continuous effort, I changed my spiritual soil to something that could support the gospel more fully in my life, and I’ve seen the blessings of it.

It doesn’t mean I was perfect in my efforts or that I’m even close to perfect now. Life isn’t easier.  People aren’t smarter.  There are even more distractions and needs and wants to juggle.  The storms still come, the sun still beats down, the winds still blow.  The difference is that now my faith can take a hit and not immediately wither.  Even during scorching trials the roots are strong and protected, holding enough in place to endure.  The deeper the roots, the more resilient the plant.  The more effort, the greater the harvest—and the more appreciated.  So often I’ve heard a variation of “if it’s true/real/meant to be, it will just happen.”  That’s untrue.  Nothing comes easy, and if it does it is only easy for a season.  We only truly love those things which we work for.  That is the law of the harvest and the reward of sacrifice.

So that’s my invitation to you—enrich your soil.  Wherever you are, however many years you’ve been “gardening,” however scant your resources feel right now, it doesn’t matter.  He can work with whatever you have, however sandy, shallow, or dry.  All that matters that you’re willing. God will make up the difference.

 

Matthew 13

Mark 4

Alma 32:26-43