The Story You Didn’t Write
Every once in a while
When you'd never expect it
And you're not quite sure you really deserve it
But God knows you desperately need it
And yet your heart almost can't bear it
Love shows up abundantly
Lavishly
Recklessly
Selflessly
Happily
Humbly
Secretly
To remind you that there is so much good in the world
And that this goodness lives in your very own home
And once even lived in your very own womb
As a true gift from a God who deeply cares about the intimate details of your life
I had the crazy notion one dead of winter morning that the abandoned dog pen from the previous homeowners, which sits as an eyesore in our backyard, would make the perfect raised garden bed. Never mind that I don't have a green thumb...it's actually almost black. Forget about the fact that I've never even grown a single tomato or pepper or carrot or anything edible for that matter. And please don't judge my houseplants on any given day...you may feel it necessary to call 241-PLANTS. But still...I envisioned something fresh. Green. Abundant. Hopeful even. Something I could create side by side with my kids. So I shared my crazy idea with them. And with the beauty of youth, they didn't laugh or judge or tell me all the reasons why it wouldn't work. They simply got on board. Enthusiastically. Helping me dream my dream and scheme.
I knew clearing the concrete pad in and of itself would be a challenge. It was covered in heavy stacked wood, random large rocks, wet leaves, stubborn vines, and miscellaneous debris. It would take time and patience and lots of second efforts. And so Jonah and I started one day, working together, laughing and then making a bonfire in our fire pit of the remnants we had cleared. It was a glorious, unexpectedly warm February day. Listening to music, we sat side by side, marveling at our work that barely made a dent in our imaginary garden. But we were proud. And then we decided to wait patiently for the next warm day to pick up where we left off.
But Trey and Jonah had other plans. I went to a dance competition with my girl in Northern Kentucky that weekend, and we were gone all day long and well into the evening. When I got home, it was dark, and I was exhausted. But Trey and Jonah asked me to come outside with them into the darkness. And the look in Jonah's shining, bright eyes made it an offer I couldn't refuse. So they led me to the concrete pad in our backyard by the light of cell phones and proudly showed me what they had accomplished while I was gone. Our ugly concrete pad was now perfectly and completely cleared. A blank, clean slate for our new vision had suddenly emerged from the rubble. Those two brothers had worked together as a team. They got their hands dirty and showed up for me. In a real, tangible way. For an idea they didn't even come up with on their own. They held their secret inside all day long and waited in the darkness until I got home to show me in person.
And on that muddy, gray, barren slab of concrete, I cried. Because they showed up for me in the "smallest big" way. With their hearts. And their hands. Full of hope and excitement. And they did it just for me. Because that's what you do when you love someone. So in the darkness, by the light of a cell phone, I hugged them tight. And as we stood there, together, I started to see tiny glimpses of new life in our emerging garden.
And I was reminded
That the beauty of life is never in the big stuff
It's in the small, seemingly insignificant details
That bind us together
And remind us that
We are loved by a God who works in those intimate details
To boldly show us that even in the darkness
He makes everything new.
Revelation 21:5 And behold, He is making all things new.
