Because Of The Yet In It

It is in those long fallow periods of time when nothing seems to happen, God brings to the surface His mighty work.  We just haven't quite gotten to the yet.

Just a week or so ago, emerging from a patch of dirt and old mulch on the side of the house, a little bit of green began to appear.  And each day, just a little bit more.   The irises are coming back, I said out loud. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sent the picture to our former neighbor up north, a nurturer of flowers of every kind.  But as she responded, "Ours look nothing like that!"  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She is still abiding in the yet of things.  Hers will emerge when the weather warms up, but not yet. We live in different parts of the country, and it appears, different seasons. 

It is coming, perhaps still not visible, His goodness growing under the surface, but it is coming.  Redemption comes in unexpected moments and seasons different for each of us.  God's favor appears in unlikely ways, not to surprise us, but for us to learn to trust Him.

Yet is not a word of wishful thinking, but of hope. Yet appears in the Bible 424 times --what is coming, what is waited for, and in Whom we can stake our lives.  No matter what is on the surface, God goes deeper than that.

I may see only barren ground, but God sees a garden still in the yet -- already growing, forming something new and strong and beautiful in us for His glory.  Even in the hard stuff, His favor covers us, even multiplying what is yet invisible to us.

That patch of dirt conveys not His absence, but His deeper Presence.

Plants that are called annuals last only for a few months.  But the perennials keep reappearing. In the deep of winter when the ground is hard as a rock, and it seems all color has disappeared, we can have hope, because of the yet in it.  Even then, God appoints His steadfast love to watch over us. Every day is a story of His faithfulness.  And as I heard an archeologist gleefully reply the other day, "Every day, a surprise." She knows the profound is still hidden.

Because of the yet in it, the flowers bloom every spring. The delight and suddenness should not take me by surprise. Because almost a hundred years ago in 1929, an elderly aunt on a fluke or by intention, transplanted a clump of mature irises from her garden to my mother's house when my mom was just ten years old. It is possible that was all this old woman had to share -- a gift of hope at the beginning of what would become widespread economic hardship. But a simple kindness is never a wasted effort.  We can never know how God will powerfully use those acts of grace.  Nor how it may encourage someone in time of hidden need.  Even a hundred years hence.

Those transplanted irises took root, spreading by growing thick underground stems called rhizomes, each shoot and root all connected, and forming new plants.  These plants increase so rapidly that the key to flourishing is to divide and share.

From that time on as my mom grew up, every time she moved, she dug up a clump of those irises out of her garden bed and transplanted them into a new location.  When my mom and dad grew old and finally moved to a condo, we dug up some of those thick roots. And in all of our moves, we too left behind a gift of ancient irises and planted anew. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And when they flower every year, no matter the storms, rocky soil, or drought, they remind me of the yet in our own lives.  Even when things look bleak, God is doing a mighty work, a thousand blossoms ready to burst into view.  Even then. Even in this. 

The blossoms don't last but a few weeks.  But they leave behind a promise of yet again.

What is God forming in me right now?  Maybe it is not yet a time of revealing.  Not just waiting. Not just watching.  But of growing in relationship with Him.  

Though the fig tree should not blossom,

nor fruit be on the vines,

the produce of the olive fail

   and the fields yield no food,

the flock be cut off from the fold

   and there be no herd in the stalls,

yet

     I will rejoice in the LORD.

I will take joy in the God of my salvation.

GOD, the Lord, is my strength.

He makes my feet like the deer's.

He makes me tread on my high places.

                Habakkuk 3. 17-19