I can admit that it’s silly, but I’m still proud of it. The “it” I’m referring to is my Roma tomato plant. I don’t have a garden. I’m not growing vegetables in raised beds and I don’t even have herbs growing in pots, but I have a fine Roma tomato vine that continues to spread and bear much fruit, and I’m proud of it. I come out every morning to check it and see what new excitement it has for me. Each day I count the new blooms, the little green tomato buds, the ripe tomatoes and how many are close to ripening. My early morning inventory has become one of the highlights of my day.
Anyone who has encountered me within the last several months has likely grown weary of hearing about my tomato plant or finds it comical at least. I talk about it, post on social media about it, preach about it, and as of now, write about it. There is no doubt that my faithful furry friend Levi has had his patience pushed to the limits over it. He’s a smart dog and he figured something out on his own. He sees me carefully inspecting my tomatoes every morning, when he thinks I should be throwing the ball with him, and decided to lash out in the form of agricultural terrorism to get my attention and send a message: “throws” before “grows.”
For several weeks I noticed that whenever a tomato got ripe it would vanish from my plant. After blaming squirrels and birds for a couple of weeks, the cold hard truth hit me in the face. One morning I walked outside to find my own familiar friend had lifted up his heel against me (Psalm 41:9). My beautiful black lab was shoulder deep in my tomato plant eating the ripe ones off the vine. Et tu Levi? No doubt he was hitting me where it hurt, seeing as how I was paying too much attention to tomatoes and not enough to him.
Here is the backstory on this botanical blessing. Last year my wife and I decided to create a compost box. It consisted of a rubber maid tub with about a hundred holes drilled in it. We put some soil in it and then began tossing all of our organic waste in the box. Fast forward to this spring and one morning I noticed a little shoot of something green growing from one of those holes. Curious, I began to watch it each day as it grew bigger and bigger until one day I was able to discern its identity because of the appearance of an undeniable little yellow bloom. It was a tomato plant. Apparently we had tossed some left over Roma tomatoes into the compost box and a little seed, despite no attention from any human, and against all odds, did what God created it to do and began to grow. For a moment I thought about doing all sorts of things like watering it and adding fertilizer and pesticides, but ultimately I decided the Lord had given and if He saw fit He would take away. This little tomato plant had done just fine without my help and so I decided to stay out of the way, well, almost. I did at least turn the box where the rain water could fall on it. God planted, God watered, and God gave the increase. The next few months were filled with an almost embarrassing amount of joy as I cheered on this little plant that could, watching it grow and grow, climbing up plant stands and across a little fence. The day I saw my first tomato it was all I could do not to run around the neighborhood sharing the good news like a man who just found out he was going to be daddy. The day i picked my first ripe, red, juicy tomato I was nearly as overwhelmed as the day I had my first child. Like Jonah from the Bible, I did nothing to make it grow, or help it along, and I will likely be saddened when it is time for it to go. I know it’s silly, and there are far more important things to worry about, but today I count it as one of my blessings, or as I’ve come to think of it, as one of God’s little graces that He places in our path each day to sustain us on our journey.
I’ve always heard if you don’t use it you lose it and that would be an appropriate description of the biological propensity for farming I inherited from my ancestors. Although she mostly grows her vegetables in pots today, my momma can produce as fine of a garden as you will ever see. My Grandaddy Sam, her daddy, plowed behind a mule to grow what was needed to provide for his family, and he successfully did for decades. The only thing I can grow consistently is my midsection, but God decided to plant a little grace in my life. I can’t feed my family from it (although I did feed my wife a nice side dish of roasted balsamic vinegar tomatoes from it one night), but it has certainly fed my soul. As you go through your day today I hope you don’t forget to stop and smell the roses, or eat the tomatoes.
