Peanuts
So, this morning I got out of the car and, there in the field beside the parking lot, I saw what
looked like the remnants of the crop that had been growing over the last couple of months. They
had been green and lush and healthy, but now they looked shriveled and dead. A season of
growing now laying there lifeless, no doubt harvested already.
My curiosity got the better of me, so I wandered over to see if I could tell what these particular
plants had been. I’m no farmer, but I know enough to recognize some of the staple crops around
here; Tobacco, cotton and corn. These plants had clearly been none of those. I had thought they
might be soybeans and was interested in seeing just how efficiently the harvester would cleaned
the beans from the plant.
Did I already say I’m not a farmer? Good. Because there on the ground, mixed in with the dry
and shriveled leaves, were clumps of peanuts. Clump after clump of peanuts. All across the field
they lay, looking like an elephant’s paradise. Not green beans or pinto beans or chickpeas or even
soybeans. Peanuts. And the sight of all these peanuts was new to me. I’ve grown up and lived
around planted crops most of my life; just not peanuts. It looked so odd that I did the most
suburbanite thing. I took a picture with my phone. Two, actually. So you understand, I’m not a
farmer.
As I sat at my desk later, I realized the comparison of our Christian lives to those peanuts. Time
after time and year after year, we look at the crop we’re growing in the church and focus on what
we can see and how fruitful our efforts have been. We look for singers and teachers and
preachers and, when they grow beautifully, we are impressed with our ability to raise them so
successfully.
Sometimes, though, the crop just doesn’t seem to be producing. We look and wait, hoping that
our efforts haven’t been in vain. When we don’t see what we’re expecting, we can find ourselves
disappointed in the crop. The problem for us is that every now and then, we aren’t growing
preachers and teachers and singers. Sometimes, we’re growing a gift that doesn’t present itself
until the end of the season, when it looks, to the un-informed, like everything is dry and
withered.
By all means, we need to look forward to growing singers and teachers and preachers. We need
to also be just excited to be growing the peanuts of the next generation. They are so often such an
unexpected gift to those around them. Let’s be excited for just what God has planted here.
In Him,
Bob

Years ago, when I was young enough to have a head full of hair and not much underneath, my sister Ellie and I decided that we just had to go parachuting.  Let me explain, though, sky diving is when you free fall and parachuting is when you use a static line to open your chute.  That may not seem like a big difference, but it is. When you use a static line, the only hard part is getting out of the plane.  Everything else is automatic.

The first time you first jump out of a plane, getting out of the plane is difficult.  Very difficult.  You have to get up from a cramped position, hoping to get some blood back into your legs before you have to attempt a maneuver that will leave you hanging onto the wing strut as the wind whips past you.  A small step is all that that is there to put your feet on, which isn’t much as you try to turn your hands around so that you can push off adequately.  This whole time, fear is attacking your consciousness, because you just know that even the slightest slip and you are going to … fall!

The ridiculous part of that is, of course you’re going to fall.  That’s the whole point of going up in the plane!  Knowing that doesn’t take away the fear, though, because you are counting on everyone doing their job correctly.  The packer must pack your chute right, the jumpmaster must put you out at the right spot so that you can land safely.  Even the pilot must do his job correctly.  And all you are required to do is fall.  And trust.

That seems like a lot to ask, but when I think about it, I realize that we trust constantly.  How so? My brakes will work when I press the pedal.  The other driver will stay on his side of the road.  The elevator works right.  The restaurant workers clean properly.  The pharmacist gave me the right medicine.  And so on, and so on.  We trust so many things will be done right.  And more times than we care to think about, our lives depend on it.

But what would happen if we were the ones packing a chute for someone?  Would they be safe, or would they plunge towards their death.  Perhaps we were careless, just this once.  Perhaps we tried to do it our own way, disregarding the approved method.  Maybe instead of doing our job, we were busy showing off.  Or maybe we didn’t show up at all, figuring someone else would do it.

These would sound like ridiculous excuses if we packed a chute.  The truth is, though, they’re just as ridiculous for Christians.  People around us are plunging to their deaths.  Are we doing our best or are we giving excuses?

One more thing – If Christ had done His job like we do ours, would we feel safe for eternity?  Just wondering.

In Him

Bob