And the LORD God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.
/Genesis 2:8/
Have you ever wanted to be in a certain place, but every effort you made proved fruitless and you had to move elsewhere? I’ve certainly felt that, and I think that rejection ushered me on a road to understand stewardship. Lately, I’m convicted to be mindful of how I build because my works will be tried by fire. Prior, I’d say I felt that pull to work hard, work diligently, but for some time, adult life felt like a drifter’s life, forever trying to figure things out, trying to make something of myself, nothing felt permanent, nothing felt like it was worthing committing to because one way or other I’d have to start all over again. How could I create anything of value if everything is fleeting?
It was a melange of focus and comparison, hope and disappointment and ambition and self-defeat, because I found myself doing things I’m not passionate about, but the things that I’m passionate I wasn’t wholly confident it. I felt that I needed to be doing something that looked like progress. And my job was that, but it was me being on the other side of Eden, rather than the specific garden planted for me.
After encountering the above scripture in Genesis recently, I’ve been asking God: Why plant? And why plant a garden? Why didn’t you plant it in the north or the west of the garden? Why the east?
I’ll wryly say I stumbled into my garden, but I didn’t feel confident to steward it, to water what needed to be watered; to cultivate what needed to be cultivated, to plant what needed to be planted. It felt beyond my ability and capability. I half-heartedly did things, because life felt uncertain, and commitment felt like too big a risk; but nothing thrives when you put in half-hearted efforts; plants die when you don’t care for them. Flowers can’t bloom if you don’t nourish them.
Why plant a garden? A garden is planted so you can grow things. All sorts of things. And they can only grow if there’s someone working the garden, causing it to thrive. And when it thrives, life also thrives, because it attracts life to it. When there’s life, there’s opportunity for new things, new experiences. What didn’t have a place will find a place. What didn’t have a home with find opportunity for a home. There’s activity. An ecosystem develops. We are planted in gardens to cultivate them; to prepare them, nurture, and help them grow.
Adam didn’t inherit an empty piece of land. He didn’t inherit a place that didn’t need him. He inherited a place that not only needed him, but a place that he needed to thrive and to realize his dominion and authority, potential. It was a place he had unfettered access to God and walked with him. Indeed, the places that God usher us to cease to be random or insignificant.
It makes me see that you need more than just your regular eyes to see what is around you and what God is doing. There are things that require more than the natural eye to perceive their value.
There was provision in the garden. A river specifically went out of Eden to provide for the garden. Adam was placed in it to tend to it, cultivate it, sustain it. I’ll be the first to admit, even with my church going and spending time in God’s presence, I haven’t always allowed my eyes to believe what God was showing, or to see His provision for where he was calling me to. It’s something I am effectively working on now, but it’s not easy.
But this scripture is cementing my understanding that where I’m placed is not random; the convictions I have, whether it’s the language learning, or business, or ministry; they are not there for decoration. They are part of my garden, and I need to work them, cultivate them with diligence. I’m responsible for their development. I have a garden that I must steward, and steward well. All these activities are the flowers and trees that I’m responsible for managing.
We often neglect our gardens because we don’t see a river that’s been sent to sustain the work. But your faith must provoke the river of provision to flow. Obedience to the instruction initiates that flow; it’s not always instant, but through the toil, what may be barely a sprinkle will begin to flow steadily. If the seed is from God, it’s worth planting and watering.
Speaking of seeds, does the planting of a mango seed, produce a tree with one mango? Does the planting of an orange tree produce only one orange? Do you not get more than you invested? Within that fruit that you receive, there’s a seed that you can replant that’ll become a tree with more fruit. God’s math is not to be trifled with. He has produced over billions of humans from only 2 people.
Nevertheless, as wonderful as his wonders are, when it trickles to human affairs and responsibilities, all I’m saying becomes complicated. Perhaps I can accept that I have a life to garden, but do I have the confidence, capability to do so? The resources? I suppose that’s my error, thinking it’s a choice, when it’s a requirement. There must be a return on investment. Our lives aren’t free per se. By that, consider the parable of the talents: one was given 5, another 3, the other 1. The others multiplied them, but the one, in fear, buried it. But the one who gave those talents still expected a return on investment.
Undoubtedly, we have a deposit of potential in us that we must cultivate, and guard and protect because it is often destroyed because of ignorance, jealousy, fear; it’s intimidated out of us because someone else is deciding our value, our worth, our right to what we have. Potential is a seed that is our responsibility; we are responsible to protect it, build it, multiply it. Furthermore, we must not allow others to discredit the value of our seed, or worse, letting our own seed die.
Don’t give upon your dream, don’t shirk your responsibility. There is a verse in Revelations 3:2 that says: Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your works perfect before God. What you have neglected is about to die; but there’s an opportunity to revitalize it. You must take immediate action because the state of your garden is an emergency. All hope is not lost. There’s still something left to salvage and to cultivate. You don’t have to build everything or attempt it in one day. Take it one day at a time, one thing at a time. There is grace to recover all.
Wherever God has you, he will make a way for you. He has already made provision for you for that place. Temporary places also have temporary provision, so don’t be afraid to move where he needs you to be. Looking back, I wasn’t afraid of moving; I was disappointed at having to move; I lamented what felt like losing what I loved, to accept what I was attempting to get away from. But over the years, I now see that my return here is to take back what was being stolen; that my garden had some overgrown animals that needed to be put down, a strange milieu of creatures that have been and would have completely stolen the dominion I have over my own possessions. I no longer yearn for this other city. For me, my garden requires all of me now. I can finally cultivate freely and with greater confidence, knowing it’s not just I who is responsible in guarding it, but God is ever-present, watching over it too. My garden has only ever needed my faith, my attention, and my diligence. Have faith in God. Have faith that he has not made an error in what he deposited in you; have faith that where he has taken you and planted you, you will thrive in it. Not just you, but for the purpose for which he has planted you in that place.
