My Dad had an allotment when he was living in England. I’m not sure how long he had an allotment, but I do know that he had it for the years that we lived in one area of the town. So let’s say at least a decade.
The allotment – a piece of land rented out to folks who wanted to plant and nurture – was my Dad’s haven. He didn’t need an excuse to be off and strolling to the allotment to see how his various plants, shrubs, vegetables and anything else he planted there was coming along. He loved that place.
I had no time for it. It was manual work for a start and I only did the washing up and drying up because the family rota dictated it to be that way. (And also if I wanted a favour from my sister, it was one of the only ways I could get it done. Another way was, putting the clothes outside on the line to dry after they were washed, another manual chore that did wonders in putting me off manual work.) Yet in as much as it was boring at the time, I appreciate the occasion when I would go to the allotment with my Dad and just hang around as he did what he loved to do. For a man who spent the majority of his time serving others and doing what was pleasing to them, it was great to see him actually doing something that he liked. Cultivating, protecting and reaping the efforts of his labours. He took great pleasure in that and now, many years later, I have a lot of admiration for his love of the work.
It was my Mum, meanwhile, in an effort to keep her children relatively subdued and not wrecking everything, who sat us down and got us to memorise Psalm 1. The imagery that stuck in my mind of all the various images in that psalm was the one of a tree planted by rivers of water producing fruit in its season and with leaves that never wither. An ever fruitful tree. That was a thought that piqued my interest even when I had no interest in God.
That was also further typified by my Mum who was able to produce fruit throughout her life with an example of being industrious at what she put her mind to do. When she no longer had heavily dependent children, time and opportunity were freed up for her to do things that clearly helped her to be productive as well as be a blessing to those around her.
My Dad had his allotment and heart of service. My Mum had her various outlets and heart of service. They were not going to be remembered by many and be famous for a lot. But they did leave a great impression on my heart as to what life was all about. Following Jesus and finding what was pleasing to Him in an effort to cultivate an ever-fruitful life.
That was a great gift from my parents as it pertained to one person … but what if there was a group of people who were committed to that ethos …
(Photo by Liana Mikah on Unsplash)
For His Name’s Sake
Shalom
C. L. J. Dryden
Life With CD 