the parable of the seed growing.

Yesterday afternoon I sat down in the rocking chair that faces the window in my bedroom.  

God, where should I read today?  Where are You going to speak to me?  

Mark 4.

That was the first thing that popped into my head.  I won't lie, it was promptly followed by a good measure of doubt that I was actually hearing from the Lord.  That doubt soon deepened when I opened up to Mark 4 and noted that the first half of the chapter is "The Parable of the Sower."  I sighed in disappointment.  Everybody's been talking about the parable of the sower lately, and quite honestly, I just felt "over it."  But, nonetheless, Mark 4 - that's the chapter of the day, right?  So I proceeded to read the chapter.  Well, maybe skim is a better word.  Parable of the sower, blah-blah-blah.  The purpose of parables, blah-blah.  The lamp under the basket, blah-blah-blah... Really, Lindsay?  Mark 4?  Whatever, you can't hear from the Lord, is what I was thinking.

And then I got to "The Parable of the Seed Growing."  

And he said, "The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground.  He sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; he knows not how.  The earth produces by itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear.  But when the grain is ripe, at once he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come."

He sleeps and rises night and day.  The seed grows, and he doesn't know how.  He just scattered the seed.  The earth is responsible to grow it.  He can't make the sun shine, he can't make the rain fall.  He can't make the little guy turn into anything more than what it is.  All he can do is scatter the seed and expect a harvest.  Expect that the phenomenon that has occurred for thousands of years will continue to occur.  He scatters.  He harvests.  And everything in between is left to Something bigger than himself.  He sleeps and rises, sleeps and rises.  Night and day, night and day.

Shaba.

 I started writing today to elaborate on that.  But I'm not sure that I can elaborate any further.  I started telling a few friends about this parable at a party last night... and I couldn't really elaborate then either.  The gospel is simple.  Our role in the kingdom is simple.  Everything complicated is left up to Him.  Scatter the seed.  Sleep and rise. Sleep and rise.  Night and day. Night and day.  Expect the harvest, and bring it in when it comes. 

That was as far as I got in Mark 4.  I just sat in my rocking chair, taking in the calmness of the simplicity of my role in the kingdom.  Peace settled over me.  And since yesterday, those little unsophisticated words keep rolling through my head.

Scatter the seed.

Sleep and rise.

Night and day.

Expect the harvest.

chocolate chip cookies.

   A few years ago, when God was in the midst of teaching me how all this works, He showed me a picture.  Did you ever make cookies with your mom when you were a little kid?  I sure did!  Chocolate cookies were my favorite (and still are!)  Mom had the recipe, she knew how to put all the ingredients together in order to make the perfect cookie, and she had all the supplies in her cupboards.  At five years old, I had no idea how to bake cookies and if left to my own devices, I probably would have burnt the kitchen down!  Mom could have easily chosen to shoo me out of the kitchen and baked the cookies herself and they would have turned out beautifully.  But I because I was her child, because she loved me, and because she enjoyed being with me, she would invite me into the cookie-baking process.  If I looked her in the eye, listened to her instructions, and was obedient to do as she directed, the cookies would turn out great.  

   Of course, then Dad would get home, ready to eat some fresh-baked goodness.  What’s the first thing five-year-old me would most likely do?  “Dad!  Look at these cookies I made for you!”  And of course, Dad smiles at Mom because they both know if Mom had ever left the kitchen there would certainly be no yummy cookies.  There would be nothing but a big, big mess, and its likely I would have gotten burnt myself along the way.  

   Every time I’ve pondered this picture in the past, I’ve thought that the cookies turning out well was the point.  If I was communicating with Mom and obeying, the cookies would be awesome.  But as I was writing this little picture out just now, the Lord reminded me that the cookies aren’t even the point the story.  The love between a mother and her child is the point of the story.  The cookies always disappear fast, but the bonding that happened in the midst of baking lasts for years.  The grin on Mom’s face at the flour I got on my nose, the secret sharing of chocolate chips we snacked on, the stories Mom told me about when she was little, the hugs I got, and the tender encouragement I received - those were the things that endured.  

   At five years old, baking those cookies was such a big deal.  Mom got it though.  She knew that the whole cooking-baking experience was just a good excuse to spend time with me and pour love into me.  For her the most precious moments were not when I mixed the dough perfectly or poured the sugar without spilling it.  For her the moments that captivated her heart were when I would giggle, when I would look her in the eye and ask for a story, when I would listen to her share, and when I would act out of confidence in her love for me.  

   I want to weep right now.  The cookies aren’t it.  I haven’t gotten in it for so long.  I listen to her just because I want the cookies to turn out well.  I obey just because I want perfect cookies to impress Dad.  It’s always all about the cookies.  My motivation for listening and obeying are so misplaced.  

   I want to get it, God.  I want to live out of the reality that being your daughter is the point.  I want to take You in during the midst of this.  I know the cookies will still get baked.  And they’ll turn out alright.  Maybe even perfect.  But Your smile... that’s the thing that endures.  The assurance that I have that You love me... that’s the thing that lasts.  

not so serious.

serious.