Our Work Cut Out for Us
May 17
/
Terra McDaniel
As I loaded a cart full of plants destined for my garden, a man crossed behind me. I noticed him pausing. I turned to face him, seeing the leathery skin of someone who spends most of their time outside. I expected him to ask for money.
Instead, smiling and nodding toward my trunk, he said, ‘You’ve got your work cut out for you!’
Yeah, I do, I chuckled.
‘But it will turn out good. It’ll be worth it.’
I think so. I hope so, I replied.
His smile widened as his chin lifted. ‘You know so. You know it will.’
With that, he took the now-empty cart I offered him and headed inside. I wasn’t sure if I’d just met an angel or a kind old man, but I knew I’d heard something wise and true. Something God knew I needed to hear. Maybe you do, too.
You’ve got your work cut out for you. And you can trust that it will turn out good in the end. That it’ll be worth it. Because our story begins in a garden (Genesis 1) and will end in a garden city (Revelation 21-22).
You may know in your bones what that work is; what is yours to do. If you don’t, not to worry. Simply consider this your invitation to stop and listen to the Spirit and your soul for the answer. It doesn’t have to be a blueprint for the rest of your life (though it might be!). Simply listen for the next right thing.
Good Soil and Good Foundations
Meanwhile, you can trust that you are what Lacy Finn Borgo calls good dirt (https://www.gooddirtministries.org/ ). It’s something you have in common with the first humans who were made from rich and fertile soil and the breath from God’s lungs. You and everyone else who has or ever will live are an imago Dei. And God’s image can’t help but be fundamentally good.
And yet, as broken people in a broken world, there are always going to be weeds to pull and hard ground to till. I live near a part of the Colorado River lovingly referred to as Lady Bird Lake.
It’s in honor of the former First Lady, committed conservationist Lady Bird Johnson (https://www.ladybirdjohnson.org/). Invasive species had taken over some areas near the water, making it less hospitable to wildlife, not to mention sad and bedraggled-looking. Over the past several years, those interlopers were removed, and the area was reseeded with native plants. At first, all that meant was that sections around the trails were roped off and barren, the soil the garish green color of anti-erosion mesh and concentrated fertilizer.
But then the flowers began growing. The following year, there were more. And this spring, the once-sparse ground is covered with the blooms of bluebonnets, evening primroses, wine cups, toadflax, and firewheels. The trees and plants along the shore are preventing erosion more effectively. Because good things can grow in good soil. It rarely merely happens, though. It often takes time, attention, and fallow, seemingly barren seasons as new life is taking root.
It makes me think of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, packed as it is with layered metaphors including parenting, gardening, architecture, and metallurgy. I imagine a composition teacher having a few simplifying suggestions for him. But his multifaceted picture has depths worth plumbing as he zooms out to the community, who are variously portrayed as children, worship buildings, and a verdant garden before leaning in to invite individuals to reflect on the fruit being born by their lives, the building being constructed on their own foundations. “For we are God’s servants, working together; you are God’s field, God’s building” (I Corinthians 3:9).
As Easter people, we build and plant on Jesus’ life and teachings. And just as any structure can be slipshod or sturdy, purely serviceable or striking, our lives can reflect truth, beauty, and goodness or the accumulation of greed, hiddenness, negligence, or unhealed wounds.
All kinds of wonderful things can be built on a solid foundation. After our house fire many years ago, most of our belongings were lost or irreparably damaged. Much that had seemed secure and trustworthy proved unreliable or fleeting. The scorched foundation and crumbling structure reflected what was happening in my heart and soul.
But the foundation was trustworthy. A new beginning was possible. And for me, it started with returning to the trustworthy things I learned as a child. Bedrock like truth setting free and mourners being comforted. Solid ground like paying attention to people’s actions as much as their words, and watching for new mercies every morning. I could trust those foundations and start fresh.
What is your life built on? What can you return to when life is unstable? What new things need to be constructed?
A Time for Everything
Before newness can flourish, crumbling old growth needs to be removed and hard ground broken up. Before a new dwelling can be built, broken bricks and crumbling sheet rock must be torn down and hauled off. A wise ancient preacher said there is a time for everything (Ecclesiastes 3). The first two times he mentions, being born and dying, are the only ones chosen for us. The rest are actions we participate in, beginning with planting and clearing. As I reflect on these familiar lines, I’m struck as never before by how many of the so-called apt times are for undoings, some forceful and others more gentle. The idea of seasons intended for tearing down, giving up, throwing away, shredding, or fighting is unsettling for me. It has something to do with the way I was raised in East Texas, where polite self-sacrifice was framed as the definition of godliness, especially for girls and women. We heard more talk about Jesus turning the other cheek than turning over tables.
Today, we are in a moment that demands honest evaluation of that which is crumbling, fractured, or failing in ourselves and our context. There are decision makers’ perspectives for which the only proper response is weeping and mourning. There are policies harming the defenseless and mocking the least that compel resistance. Ryan O’Neal of Sleeping At Last has a new song called “Destroy”
(https://open.spotify.com/album/77kmv9Sich6n1OewK9CTRssi=YmEMfT0sRNayVEPIS47unw) that captures the spirit of necessary demolition in such times with words like smash, pruned, and pulled apart, and a repeated refrain of, “don’t overthink it, just pick up the pieces.” Those words fill me with sorrow and resolve in equal measure.
As the children’s Bible story book, The Book of Belonging, says it,
Yes, life is long and full of choices. Some days it feels like too many choices. But… God has sent us a guide. Like Wisdom herself, God’s Spirit is always speaking, delighting, advising, welcoming.[1]
There is indeed a time for everything. There is a time to plant and to uproot; a time to build and to break. Whatever season you’re in, there is good and necessary work to be done. By you. By us.
And, as that wise stranger reminded me, we’ve got our work cut out for us. There’s no denying some of it won’t be easy or pleasant. Some of it will be confusing or confounding. Some of it will be difficult and painful. But it will be worth it. It will turn out good in the end. Our story isn’t over yet. May we take heart and not give up.
[1] Clark, Mariko, The Book of Belonging (New York: Convergent, 2024), 134.
Instead, smiling and nodding toward my trunk, he said, ‘You’ve got your work cut out for you!’
Yeah, I do, I chuckled.
‘But it will turn out good. It’ll be worth it.’
I think so. I hope so, I replied.
His smile widened as his chin lifted. ‘You know so. You know it will.’
With that, he took the now-empty cart I offered him and headed inside. I wasn’t sure if I’d just met an angel or a kind old man, but I knew I’d heard something wise and true. Something God knew I needed to hear. Maybe you do, too.
You’ve got your work cut out for you. And you can trust that it will turn out good in the end. That it’ll be worth it. Because our story begins in a garden (Genesis 1) and will end in a garden city (Revelation 21-22).
You may know in your bones what that work is; what is yours to do. If you don’t, not to worry. Simply consider this your invitation to stop and listen to the Spirit and your soul for the answer. It doesn’t have to be a blueprint for the rest of your life (though it might be!). Simply listen for the next right thing.
Good Soil and Good Foundations
Meanwhile, you can trust that you are what Lacy Finn Borgo calls good dirt (https://www.gooddirtministries.org/ ). It’s something you have in common with the first humans who were made from rich and fertile soil and the breath from God’s lungs. You and everyone else who has or ever will live are an imago Dei. And God’s image can’t help but be fundamentally good.
And yet, as broken people in a broken world, there are always going to be weeds to pull and hard ground to till. I live near a part of the Colorado River lovingly referred to as Lady Bird Lake.
It’s in honor of the former First Lady, committed conservationist Lady Bird Johnson (https://www.ladybirdjohnson.org/). Invasive species had taken over some areas near the water, making it less hospitable to wildlife, not to mention sad and bedraggled-looking. Over the past several years, those interlopers were removed, and the area was reseeded with native plants. At first, all that meant was that sections around the trails were roped off and barren, the soil the garish green color of anti-erosion mesh and concentrated fertilizer.
But then the flowers began growing. The following year, there were more. And this spring, the once-sparse ground is covered with the blooms of bluebonnets, evening primroses, wine cups, toadflax, and firewheels. The trees and plants along the shore are preventing erosion more effectively. Because good things can grow in good soil. It rarely merely happens, though. It often takes time, attention, and fallow, seemingly barren seasons as new life is taking root.
It makes me think of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, packed as it is with layered metaphors including parenting, gardening, architecture, and metallurgy. I imagine a composition teacher having a few simplifying suggestions for him. But his multifaceted picture has depths worth plumbing as he zooms out to the community, who are variously portrayed as children, worship buildings, and a verdant garden before leaning in to invite individuals to reflect on the fruit being born by their lives, the building being constructed on their own foundations. “For we are God’s servants, working together; you are God’s field, God’s building” (I Corinthians 3:9).
As Easter people, we build and plant on Jesus’ life and teachings. And just as any structure can be slipshod or sturdy, purely serviceable or striking, our lives can reflect truth, beauty, and goodness or the accumulation of greed, hiddenness, negligence, or unhealed wounds.
All kinds of wonderful things can be built on a solid foundation. After our house fire many years ago, most of our belongings were lost or irreparably damaged. Much that had seemed secure and trustworthy proved unreliable or fleeting. The scorched foundation and crumbling structure reflected what was happening in my heart and soul.
But the foundation was trustworthy. A new beginning was possible. And for me, it started with returning to the trustworthy things I learned as a child. Bedrock like truth setting free and mourners being comforted. Solid ground like paying attention to people’s actions as much as their words, and watching for new mercies every morning. I could trust those foundations and start fresh.
What is your life built on? What can you return to when life is unstable? What new things need to be constructed?
A Time for Everything
Before newness can flourish, crumbling old growth needs to be removed and hard ground broken up. Before a new dwelling can be built, broken bricks and crumbling sheet rock must be torn down and hauled off. A wise ancient preacher said there is a time for everything (Ecclesiastes 3). The first two times he mentions, being born and dying, are the only ones chosen for us. The rest are actions we participate in, beginning with planting and clearing. As I reflect on these familiar lines, I’m struck as never before by how many of the so-called apt times are for undoings, some forceful and others more gentle. The idea of seasons intended for tearing down, giving up, throwing away, shredding, or fighting is unsettling for me. It has something to do with the way I was raised in East Texas, where polite self-sacrifice was framed as the definition of godliness, especially for girls and women. We heard more talk about Jesus turning the other cheek than turning over tables.
Today, we are in a moment that demands honest evaluation of that which is crumbling, fractured, or failing in ourselves and our context. There are decision makers’ perspectives for which the only proper response is weeping and mourning. There are policies harming the defenseless and mocking the least that compel resistance. Ryan O’Neal of Sleeping At Last has a new song called “Destroy”
(https://open.spotify.com/album/77kmv9Sich6n1OewK9CTRssi=YmEMfT0sRNayVEPIS47unw) that captures the spirit of necessary demolition in such times with words like smash, pruned, and pulled apart, and a repeated refrain of, “don’t overthink it, just pick up the pieces.” Those words fill me with sorrow and resolve in equal measure.
As the children’s Bible story book, The Book of Belonging, says it,
Yes, life is long and full of choices. Some days it feels like too many choices. But… God has sent us a guide. Like Wisdom herself, God’s Spirit is always speaking, delighting, advising, welcoming.[1]
There is indeed a time for everything. There is a time to plant and to uproot; a time to build and to break. Whatever season you’re in, there is good and necessary work to be done. By you. By us.
And, as that wise stranger reminded me, we’ve got our work cut out for us. There’s no denying some of it won’t be easy or pleasant. Some of it will be confusing or confounding. Some of it will be difficult and painful. But it will be worth it. It will turn out good in the end. Our story isn’t over yet. May we take heart and not give up.
[1] Clark, Mariko, The Book of Belonging (New York: Convergent, 2024), 134.
Terra McDaniel
Terra is a spiritual director, pastor, teacher, and writer who loves making space for people of all ages to tune into their own souls. Terra is convinced that the Spirit is working both within the church and outside it and feels particularly called to host those who feel spiritually homeless.
You can find her on Facebook, Instagram, and at terramcdaniel.com.
You can find her on Facebook, Instagram, and at terramcdaniel.com.
