Today's Reading: Isaiah 5-8
For the last couple days, my hubby has been bent over pulling weeds in the garden. His muscles are sore from man-handling the tiller. Despite his attention to perfect soil preparation, research of prime seed and seedlings and proper planting techniques, the weeds have come, the plants are full of bugs and the yield is not what was hoped.
God had trouble with his vineyard too. Despite perfect husbandry, the vines produced poorly and what was produced was wormy.
I told my hubby, "Just forget about it. We can go to the farmer's market and buy fruits and vegetables at an inexpensive rate. It will be so much less hassle!"
"But it won't be mine," my husband tells me. "I planted this garden. I've touched every seed. I remember every seedling."
And so he spends countless, backbreaking, sweat dripping hours working diligently to redeem his garden from the encroaching weeds.
I would give it all up. I would mow it down. I would burn it to kill off all the weed seeds.
But it is not my garden.
It is his, and he will do anything to regain it.
My husband sounds like my God.
I think of this as I sit in the comfort of air conditioning, looking at my husband in the burning sun, and I am grateful for him and grateful for God.