The Great Outdoors
Early spring, my daughter Banks and I planted red potatoes and Vidalia Onions. I confess, I should remember the particular type of red potato, but they had no marquee value. I just know they are red. Vidalia, on the other hand, is the Corvette of onions. Sweet and saucy, the Vidalia, a geographic cousin to the Georgia Peach, is the marquee name of onions, so I remembered it. 
The day before, I turned rows in the garden spot- every country home place has a garden spot. Maybe it doesn’t get used every year. But on a country homestead, the garden is always in the same place because there is always fertile ground there. It was a cooler spring morning, maybe 50 degrees, and as the sun chased the moon out of the morning sky, it brought the warmth of a Spring sun-shower with it. Banks and I both wore long sleeves to ward off the chill in the early morning air, but now each of us contemplated shedding a layer. The rows in the garden were long and straight. I’d guesstimate they were 100 feet long with plenty of room for more potatoes and onions than we could ever eat by ourselves. “Banks, take your two long fingers and stick them straight down in the dirt as far as they will go. Then take this piece of potato and shove it down in the hole, and then cover it with dirt.” She listened intently and then followed my directions precisely. “Daddy, the hole is too small for the potato to fit in.” I study the situation momentarily. “Indeed, it is, baby girl. Can you make your fingers fatter and longer?” She grinned in response, as I surveyed the wood line for a good stick. “A good stick will fix almost any problem, little princess.” “How about that one?” she asked, pointing a few feet away. “Looks perfect to me,” I offered, picking it up and handing it to her. 
“Hmmmm…” she said provokingly. “What?” I asked. “I can’t get this stick to ‘fix’ your bad jokes.” Her smile spanned from ear to ear. I laughed and gently pushed her shoulder just enough to roll her off her kneed perch and into the soft dirt. She laughed, “Heeeeyyyyy!” I pounced and tickled her ribcage relentlessly. “I bet it will fix your sassy jokes,” I retorted! A minute or two later, she declared, “I’m France,” which is code in our house for “I surrender.” I pulled her up out of the fresh dirt and helped dust her off. She grinned and giggled as she told me how “mean” I was. She plunged the stick into the ground two fingers deep. I didn’t have to explain why the stick was the proper tool; she understood it implicitly. It was twice the diameter of her two longest fingers. “Works perfectly,” she offered. I nodded my head and moved back to my row. Side by side, we planted potato pieces until we reached the end of the row. The dirt was fresh and earthy. Its smell was strong and intoxicating. “There is nothing like the smell of fresh dirt, Banks.” She nodded, semi-approvingly. I clasped a handful in my hands, letting it sprinkle between my fingers back to the ground. It was cold, even under the warming sun, and soft, like talcum powder. “Isn’t it interesting to you that God uses this dirt to make things grow?” I drew her attention. “Of all things? It’s not pretty. It’s not appealing. It’s hardly noticeable, but without it, nothing grows.” She studied the dirt falling from my hands. “I guess He can do whatever He wants,” she declared. “Yes, He can. But why dirt?” She responded, “I don’t know.” I asked, “Could it be that everything has a purpose?” She nodded her head again, sticking a potato deep into the hole and pulling the dark brown soil back over the top. “Can trees grow plants like this? Can concrete? Can sand, even?” She nodded opposingly, each time I asked. “What about you? What is it that He wants you to do, that only you can do?” Not letting me get too caught up in the profoundness of my thoughts, she looked at me and said, “Plant potatoes.” I couldn’t help but laugh, and she did too. Over the next few months, the potatoes will grow, and we will reap the harvest. All because God gave the dirt and the eye of the potato a purpose. And Banks. And me, too. You as well. He gave you very specific purposes, indeed. Ephesians 2:10 reminds us that He prepared the way for us to do those good things He would have us do. So, get to planting, for you will reap, in due time, if you do not grow weary of doing good. (Galatians 6:9)
-Walt Merrell is a Christian Outdoorsman who writes of his adventures with his family, with the hope that others might be inspired and encouraged to embrace God’s tapestry, otherwise known as the great outdoors, as a means of finding Common Ground. You can follow him at Shepherding Outdoors on FB, YT and IG and at shepherdingoutdoors.com.
