Hope In The Midst Of Despair: My 1st Vespers Homily

When I signed up to give a homily for the first time in Vespers, I didn't know when I would be asked, or what texts I would be working with. Eric contacted me a couple of weeks ago to ask if I could be ready in 2 weeks, and I had just a slight freakout. Public speaking is not my forte. I decided I should just go ahead and jump this hurdle now, rather than put it off until later in the year. I was pleasantly surprised when I looked over our texts for the evening. You see, I am a gardener. I feel that God has blessed me with a green thumb. While gardening brings me pleasure, I also find that it's one of the best ways for God to speak to me. It's impossible to deny intelligent design when surrounded by such beauty. So when I saw that our chant and 2 of our 3 passages of scripture told stories of a vineyard, and the portion of our peace prayer this week deals with sowing hope in the midst of despair, I felt an instant connection. Jesus spoke in parables, because it was a language everyone could understand. Some people identify with lots of sports references in their sermons (sorry, Josh; I wish was one of them), others with references to careers, parenting, or marriage. When Jesus talks about the different types of soil in which seeds are sown, or the size of a mustard seed, or bearing good fruit, I get it. My gardening experiences give me a point of reference to help me understand His meaning. 

In Isaiah (chapter 5:1-7), God is a gardener. He created this great big, beautiful world. He prepared the earth so that when He planted us there, we would shine for Him, thrive, produce wonderful fruit for his Kingdom. But just as any gardener knows, our best laid plans are sometimes thwarted when the plants we've placed have a mind of their own. No matter how we nurture them, some plants just won't give us the beauty we expect. This makes me think of my love of gladiolas, and my frustrating attempts through the years to grow them. I get my green thumb from my grandmother. Gladiolas were her favorites, and they were always a show-stopper in her garden. Try as I might, I just can't get the results she was able to get year after year. More sun, less sun. More water, less water. Good soil, not-so-good soil. Unfortunately, she passed when I was 13, long before I discovered my passion for gardening and had any interest in learning her secret to producing such gorgeous blooms. I imagine God gets just as frustrated with us as I get with those silly plants sometimes. Because, despite His perfect plan for us, sin entered our world and destroyed it. God gives us so much, more than we could ever deserve, in which to grow, soak in His love, and spread the hope of Christ throughout His Kingdom. Yet, sometimes for us, it's never enough. We join the world and their negativity, whine about how unfair life is, complain about what we don't have, spread stories about all the evil and despair in the world. But just as I keep trying to duplicate my grandmother's wonderous gladiolas despite my many failures, God never gives up on us. He keeps giving us reason to hope, showing us over and over again that the battle against evil has already been conquered. In Matthew (chapter 21:33-46), God is still the gardener, but we aren't the plants in the vineyard. Instead, we are the caretakers, entrusted with all that God has given us, and he is sending us constant reminders that we are only the tenants, we own nothing. Not to brag, but gardeners tend to be some of the most generous people I know. Mostly because, as plants multiply in our gardens and we divide and replant, we eventually run out of places to put them. It's our duty to share the bounty with our friends and families, even complete strangers on Craigslist. Though I find it easy to share the gifts from my garden, it isn't always so easy in other areas of my life. Why is that? So many times, we conform to the standards of this world and fight tooth and nail to get what we feel we deserve and then keep it to ourselves. We listen to those voices telling us that people that weren't blessed to be raised as middle or upper class, or weren't as fortunate as we were to have a quality education and therefore, better opportunities in life, are undeserving of our help. I'll admit that it's a struggle for me to tune out those voices, and instead, listen to my Father whispering to me, "Give. Just as I gave to you". Hope in the midst of despair. 

 

 I'm no different than any of you. We've ALL weathered storms and been in that pit of despair. Maybe you think your pit doesn't look as deep as my pit, or maybe you think yours looks deeper than mine. I assure you, the feelings are all the same. So when David pleads with God in the Psalms (Psalm 80:7-14) for restoration, for light to shine through the darkness, on some level, we can ALL identify. For me, it's been 3 separate bouts of clinical depression; Pierce's autism diagnosis; the day we thought we'd never see him again when he wandered too far away from home; the devastating (but necessary) decision to leave a church that we so desperately loved, but that no longer represented our family; the many, MANY health crises my sister endured over the last 21 years of her life; the peace my family thought we'd feel when my sister's suffering was finally over, only to endure months of turmoil and uncertainty filled with false accusations that we hastened her death. 

How do we sow hope in the midst of despair? Again, I bring up the gardening analogy. I, quite literally, sow hope in my garden by planting perennials and bulbs. In the fall, I dig these pits in my garden, and fill them with little lumps of nothing. They sit in the ground, throughout a freezing gray and bleak winter. But in the spring, I'm rewarded for enduring the torturous cold with bold, beautiful blooms. Same thing with my perennials. I watch them all turn crispy and brown and eventually crumble away every winter. And then, just when I start to think they are never coming back and I may have finally killed them for good this time, I witness their rebirth as tiny green shoots poke their heads through the cold ground every spring. How does this translate into our everyday lives? I don't know exactly. It's taken me 40 years to figure this out, and, as Paul says in our passage in Phillipians (chapter 3:4-14), "Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it." I've been surrounded with such negativity throughout my life, but I'm slowly and surely realizing that God won't shine through if I stay in that place. So, I surround myself with gems of light. Church activities, including Life Groups, affirming quotes (you probably see me whipping out my phone every week to snap pictures of the quotes on the screen. Especially when I forget to turn off my flash), scripture, activities that let me showcase my gifts, like singing and gardening. Sometimes, I have to "fake it, til I make it" when I'd really rather wallow in my pit. Maybe you do, too.  But eventually, you pretend long enough that some hope starts to take root, and eventually, it grows high and wide enough to lift you out of that pit and into the light. And once we become filled with that light, we can't help but spread it everywhere we go, sowing hope in the midst of despair. "Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead."

Pay It Forward

The place that our family called home for 13 years was filled with thousands of irises, Tennessee's state flower. I was SO excited about inheriting these beautiful plants, and I would cut giant bouquets and place them all over the house. I began to move the plants all around the yard. The more I divided them, the more they would multiply. I had more than I knew what to do with, so eventually, I began to offer them to family, friends, even friends of friends, one of which gave me the nickname "the iris lady". I love spreading the wealth and bringing a smile to the faces of others. People will post pictures of the irises I've given them on Facebook, and I so enjoy seeing my babies being loved by other people and thriving in new homes.

We moved nearly 2 years ago, but we still rent the old property out. These tenants aren't gardeners in the least, so I've been on a rescue mission lately, to dig up all of my plants and move them to our new place. Last summer, I offered up more irises to anyone that was interested. One day, early in the fall, I saw 2 of the women that work in my chiropractor's office at a landscape place. We chatted briefly, and I mentioned all of the plants I was trying to rescue. I offered them some irises, and they were both interested. Later in the fall, I brought sacks of iris plants to my chiropractor's office. Both women were excited, but especially Jan. She had just recently lost her mother, and she thought planting the irises would be a nice tribute to her. I showed them both how deep to plant them and explained that they likely wouldn't bloom in the first year after being transplanted. 

It was a long, cold winter. Finally, the temperatures began to rise, and I would get reports every Monday when I came in for my chiropractor visits. "I'm starting to get green leaves!" "Shouldn't they be blooming by now?" I had to remind them again that they probably wouldn't bloom this spring. A week ago, Jan was thrilled to tell me that one iris had a stalk with buds. I could tell she was disappointed that it was the only one, but I assured her this was normal. 

Yesterday, I came in for my usual visit. While I was doing my stretches, Jan rushed over and shoved her phone in my face. "Look!", she said, and there was a picture of an iris bloom. "Oh yea! It finally bloomed!", I said. She grinned and said, "Do you know when it opened up?", she hesitated before answering, "...yesterday". I gasped as a chill went up my spine, and exclaimed, "Mother's Day!". Her eyes got teary as she reminded me that she had planted the flowers in honor of her mother. Her husband woke her up Sunday morning and said, "You've GOT to see this!!". He hustled her out of bed and to the window, where a single iris bloom was standing tall and proud. I felt as though my heart would burst. Many people over the years have shown me gratitude for sharing my beautiful plants with them, but this has got to be, hands down, the biggest blessing I've ever received as a result of giving away irises. I don't like the terms "God-thing" or "God-moment"; to me, it minimizes all those other moments that God is ALWAYS working in our lives. But for Jan on this Mother's Day, I know she felt God's arms wrap around her. And knowing that I played just a tiny roll in that moment, is a feeling I can't possibly describe. All I did was pass along some extra plants, plants that were never really mine to begin with. I think this just goes to show that even the slightest kindness we do for others, sometimes matters more than we could ever know. I don't say this to toot my own horn, but to encourage all of you out there to give back; pay it forward. Heck, it's a lesson I myself need to remember more often...be kind; you never know the smiles or the hope you might inspire. 

This Old House

In 2 weeks, we will be moving from the north side of Nashville (Madison) to the south side (Brentwood). It's a move that we've toyed with in the past, but only seriously began to consider this summer. We will be almost across the street from our church, and very close to all of my chorus activities. We'll have a pool, more square footage, and we'll be in a great school. We are all at peace with this move, more so than I thought we'd ever be, but I've been pretty emotional at times about what we're leaving behind. Here's the story of our current house.

Fifteen years ago, we were a young, childless couple, on a tight budget, looking for our first house. We found a cute starter home in Madison. It wasn't the best area of town and the schools weren't great, but having no kids yet, that wasn't really a concern for us. About a year later, I gave birth to our first child. Imagine my surprise when Tim came home just a few weeks later to say that he had driven past a very cool house (only a mile away from our first home) that was for sale. It was old, but charming, and he thought it would be fun to remodel. To say I was apprehensive is a bit of an understatement; then I saw the place. My first impression of the concrete block house on 4 acres of land with 6 outbuildings was that it looked like the lair of a serial killer. However, the rock walls and huge trees all over the property gave it a bit of charm. The house would need quite a bit of work to make it livable, but we had an infant to take care of! I couldn't believe Tim was really serious. He finally convinced me to take the plunge by saying that he thought we could make it livable in 2 months (Tim, of course, does not remember telling me this). We closed on the property when Pierce was 3 months old in July of 1998. Our friends and family thought we were crazy.

Several months later, we were STILL working on the house. We'd knocked out walls, built new ones, replastered, and completely replaced the electrical. I honestly can't remember what the date was, but in early 1999, we figured it was safe to put our first house on the market. Of course, it sold quicker than we were expecting. Suddenly, we had to move into a house that didn't have floors or a kitchen. Tim scrambled to get things finished. A few days before moving, I took Pierce to South Carolina to stay with my parents for a week. He was almost a year old. I didn't want to, but the house still didn't have a kitchen, and I didn't want to live in those conditions with a baby. I came back to help Tim finish and get us moved. I have a picture of all of our living room furniture sitting outside for 2 days, because we still had no carpet in that room! The first night Tim and I spent in the house, a pipe in our only working bathroom burst. After the move, I went back to South Carolina and stayed with my parents for another week until the house was ready. When I came home, I was an emotional wreck. I'd had to spend several days away from my baby and then several more days without Tim; I'd left behind a nursery that I'd spent so much time decorating and that had sentimental value to me; I'd just moved out of a perfectly good house where everything was finished and working. I was crying and raging about all of this one night in our somewhat functional kitchen when Tim said something to the effect of "I just want you to be happy". That's when I yelled the words that still haunt me: "I WILL NEVER BE HAPPY HERE!!"

Well, we continued working on the house here and there; a new roof, new windows. When I got pregnant with Reagan, I insisted that the time had come for our master bathroom to be finished. When Reagan was a toddler, we hired a contractor to finish out the concrete block bonus room and to remodel the exterior. Tim's mother would come visit from time to time and help us with unfinished projects around the house. I think it made her a bit crazy to see so many things undone. As the years went by and we began to make memories in this old house, it began to grow on me more and more. People would joke with us about how far we would drive to church and how our little hilltop was becoming more exposed. I-65 had been widened and we could see it from our living room window. Also, the land across the street was cleared 2 weeks after we closed on the house. A new hospital opened 3 years later. The Emergency Room entrance was actually directly across from our driveway. This increased traffic on our narrow, windy street, bringing crazy drivers that nearly ran me off the road more than once. Our friends said that maybe the time had come to move on to greener pastures. My statement was always the same: "We'll never get rid of this place. I'll be buried in the back yard." I began to garden, and I had dreams of getting every inch of our 4 acres beautifully landscaped. We did another big remodel last summer. We knocked out walls, built a closet and pantry, and installed bamboo flooring. There are still many projects to be completed, but we've made this place into a home that I now love. I could never imagine leaving...

That is, until Tim's dad called a few months ago to talk to him about his house. His dad had a house in Brentwood that had been rented for the last 2 years. We'd toyed with the idea of buying this house a few years ago since we had become members at the Otter Creek Church in Brentwood. In the end, we decided that we couldn't possibly leave our house. But, a few recent events had made us reevaluate. Both of our kids entered the youth group over the summer. It seemed like we were constantly driving them to and from Brentwood for some youth event. I was already doing an excessive amount of  driving to Brentwood for chorus rehearsals and meetings. Then, Pierce had a not-so-good year at school. We were dealing with a difficult new principal and Pierce's one-on-one assistant was fired at the end of the year. When Tim's dad called to say that he was putting his house on the market, I told Tim that I was interested in talking about it.

So here I am, packing up the house that we've lived in for 13 years. I feel an indescribable peace about the move. I'm excited to be so close to most of our activities. Reagan is excited to be going to school with one of her very close friends from church. Pierce is excited to have a pool. Though we had a rocky start to the school year (Pierce was accidentally placed on a bus at the end of the first day, so when I came to pick him up, no one could find him. Ah, just another story for my book.), every other interaction I've had with the school reinforces my belief that we've made the right choice. But among all of the joy, there are pangs of sorrow. I'll never get to see what this place could've been. Our to-do list will never be completed. Actually, many of those projects we've put off will be tackled, but only to appeal to renters or buyers. One of the first things I said to Tim after making this decision was, "Oh great. I'll finally get this house looking just the way I want it, only to give it to someone else!"

I decided one day to make a list of all of the things I would miss about this house, and all of the things I would NOT. I just wanted to see which list would be longer. Interestingly, my "miss" list is longer than my "not" list, nearly 2 to 1. I couldn't have predicted that 13 years ago. This list is not complete; I keep thinking of more to add, and I'm sure I'll have a few more after the move. But this is a long post, and it needs to end sometime. Thank you for joining me on my walk down memory lane!

Things I WILL miss:

1. My custom shower/bathroom

2. The seclusion

3. All the work we've done

4. Charm of this place

5. Potential of how fantastic we could make this landscape look

6. All of our rock walls

7. The scripture engraved in tile behind the stove (Ecclesiastes 3:13- "That everyone may eat and drink, and find  satisfaction in all his toil. This is the gift of God")

8. Chef's Market Cafe (They have the BEST carrot cake I think I've ever tasted!)

9. View from our hill at night

10. Being so close to Opry Mills

11. Being close to Metro Center, and my favorite Greek place

12. Reagan's friends, Kaylee and Kaylin

13. My big white crepe myrtles

14. My tankless water heater

15. The round bathroom (converted from a water cistern that was part of the house)

16. Mowing around the grave of our very first family pet; our sweet puppy dog Annabelle

17. Our VERY secluded hot tub 

18. The wild turkeys that show up in our yard every spring

19. Being close to Olive Garden

20. Time alone in the car singing my favorite music

21. Driving past the cute little garden on Due West Avenue

22. My favorite garden center, Bates Nursery, that's just down the road.

23. Our cranky but sweet next-door-neighbor (She's the daughter of the man that built this house)

24. The root cellar in one of our out-buildings that kids refer to as "the cave"

25. Hearing people tell us what a neat place we have

26. Hearing Goodpasture's marching band rehearsing in the distance

27. Being 2 miles away from Old Time Pottery

28. Being 2 miles away from Dairy Queen

Things I will NOT miss:

1. The long drives

2. Hearing ambulances and life flight helicopters all hours of the day and night

3. Terrifying turn into and out of our driveway (Our driveway sits right on a blind curve. Someone hit me as I turned out just a few months after we moved in)

4. The trash that is constantly being thrown onto our street from passing motorists

5. The apartments at the end of our street, whose entrance is constantly strewn with clothes and furniture from a recent eviction

6. The crappiest Walmart I've ever shopped at, right across the street.

7. Feeling so susceptible to another break-in

8. How long it takes takes to mow

9. How much effort it takes to make this yard look decent

10. The over abundance of poison ivy

11. The condemned house and overgrown property next door

12. The invasive honeysuckle bushes

13. Getting nearly run off of our narrow, windy road by crazy drivers and ambulances

14. Hearing delivery guys complain about our steep driveway

15. Having to drive to a park if I wanted to walk (Our street was too dangerous.)

16. Metro schools