The Hidden Harvest

I'm out in the rain in over-sized rain boots to dig around in the garden. I glance at the raspberry stalks. 

Nothing.

But then--because hope dies slowly--I venture deep inside the raspberry patch and stick my head underneath the wet stalks.  Tiny barbs on the stalks scratch my fingers, but I keep going. 

A hidden harvest greets me!

Ripe Raspberries Deep Within

Afraid they might disappear like some desert mirage, I frantically start gathering berries.  There's too many to carry in my hands.  Hidden on the underside of every stalk, I find more and more. 

I return with a bowl and finish the work.  I'm amazed at this hidden harvest.  We feast until we've had our fill.  

The whole time, I'm wondering about this hidden harvest.  What harvest awaits, hidden from public view--from public consumption--because it's a deeper, internal sort of fruit?   I think about all the quiet, hidden things I harvest from the Lord's work in my life. I think of character traits like perseverance, humility, courage.  The world might not immediately see it, and it might not be obvious to anyone else. 

But I know I'm changing.

Living with flair means thanking God that He produces fruit in our lives of good character.  When there's no obvious fruit on the vine, it just means the harvest might be internal--deep within--on the underside.

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Journal:  Has your character changed this year?   

When the Competition is You

Last night for Neighborhood Fitness Group, we dance our normal dances and crawl around like wild animals.  But then, the children beg for "The Jump Rope Challenge."  Turning jump rope in a basement is a challenge in itself, but we figure out a way to make it work.

"The Jump Rope Challenge" isn't a normal competition.  It's a battle against your own best record.  Before each child begins jumping, he or she announces a personal goal.  Sometimes, this number is 10 jumps.  Sometimes, it's 110 jumps .  There's a scorekeeper, cheerleaders, and rope turners, so everybody has a role to play.

A little girl jumps.  We cheer when she surpasses 10 jumps and reaches 39.  The next one exceeds 100 and achieves 102 jumps.  The next one beats his record of 18 and goes for 21 jumps.  High-fives!  Loud cheering!

The fun of the challenge is that you beat yourself.

I'm amazed because the children don't compare their record to other records.  The moment jumping rope is about their personal best--unique to them, in their stage of life, set right at their fitness level.  My sister has told me for years about the running world and "personal records."  It's not important who finishes ahead of or behind you.  You have your own time to beat. 

I keep turning the jump rope, and my arm feels like it's going to give out.  I tell myself to keep turning so that a little boy can reach his personal best.  Somewhere deep inside of him, he musters up the strength.  I see his face, and I try to imagine what's going on inside of his head.  He wants to quit; I see that.  But he doesn't. 

The scorekeeper records the personal win.  We tape the evidence to the wall.  Maybe I'll keep these charts in my basement for 20 more years.  Maybe I'll show them at their high school graduation and remind them of these nights in my basement when they accomplished a personal best and the neighborhood cheered.

They wanted to quit, but they didn't.

The Easiest Way to Persevere

There's just too much to do.  That's the problem today.  Most people have a threshold.  They can balance just so many plates in the air, and add just one more, and the whole operation comes crashing down.  Some of us respond with a paralysis and a moodiness that we can't beat.  We are overwhelmed and stressed out.

I'm lying in my bed, and I think of what needs to be done today.  It's huge.  It's mammoth.  It's impossible.  But then I remember one of the best coping mechanisms for that overwhelmed, stressed out, paralyzing, moody feeling of "I can't do this."

I think about tiny chores.  It's a simple truth your own mother probably told you when you had to clean your room.  When the chores seem too much, you just break them apart into teeny, tiny chores. 

And they have to be tiny chores.  Remember, we are overwhelmed and stressed out.  We can't tackle cleaning the basement, but we can clean this one inch of desk.  I need that small accomplishment as activation energy, as catalyst, as fuel.  Then, a reaction starts.  A glorious, vibrant one. 

So I start in the smallest division of my mammoth task as possible.  I do one inch, then the next inch, then the next and next and next.  You fold this one shirt.  You clean this one dish.  You study this one page.  You write this one sentence.

And soon you've written a dissertation.

I'm persevering through the day, and all of a sudden, the stress drains.  The finished tiny chore gives me a power that moves out in concentric circles like a stone I've thrown on the surface of the water.  I can do this next thing and then this one and that one. I'm inspired!  I'm energized! 

Perseverance is "steady persistence in spite of difficulty." I don't have to do everything right now. There's difficulty here, opposition there. But I can do one inch and see what happens.  I can keep doing my inches, steadily.  It's like starting to exercise.  You just put on your shoes and say you'll go these few steps.  Maybe you'll walk or run to the mailbox out front.  That's good.  That's the inch.  Later, you could run to the stop sign.  Next week, I won't even be able to catch you. 

Do the inch.  Living with flair means I think of this task in terms of the inch.