I still had the snake. I yowled. We weeded.

I still had the snake. I yowled. We weeded. All the jobs are bad but worst is the victory garden. No thanks!The day they posted the volunteer sign-up lists, I was (of course) late. It's a lint filter.An anatomical lint filter.Spiritually speaking, I knowAir Max France Pas Cher that we are all separate members of the same body. The empty machine started to agitate. We were in the middle of the melon patch, two friends laughing. I caught my foot on a pea vine, fell over backwards, and landed rump first in the melon patch. The baby cried. Reviewed my schedule. Checked the washer (not quite full yet.) I verified the sitter for the morning.TN Requin Cartoon Homme I whooped. One seed stuck on her forehead, another on her chin. The harvest was almost over. (Efficient use of time is the key to success.) I packed my husband's lunch. (Hot, bleachy water) The baby started the spew cycle. And then.... And I felt mean and clumsy in comparison. I muttered; I picked. It can't detect ten-day old fish in the back of the fridge. I looked at the mess I had made of the peas, the beans, the beets and, especially, the melons. I could be Grace. Rump first on a ripe watermelon. I am a permanent member on any worst dressed list. He expects us to ?get saved and then go get more saved. I re-planted. She is efficient and capable, composed and elegant. I WAS GRACE! I cleaned the house every night. It was still in my hand. The bottom-line. I yollered. From experience, I knew fresh paint was too challenging for Calamity Jane and my presence on a rooftop was just asking for a medical emergency. Pink watermelon fruit cradled in the curls of her hair. She taught me how to tell the young plants from the weeds. Some of us are heads. It can't pick up a fork or cushion a fall. I coordinated my kids' clothing. I was on time for every appointment. And I would be capable and efficient...or die trying.I had learned much from Grace. ? Yvonne discovered the profitability of sowing. It was one of the last times we would work in the garden. I hated being a belly button. (That was me.) We fertilized. She is not a belly button. I did. I remembered the "used-to-be" black tee shirt my husband wore to work.I was the most un-Grace-ful person in the world. She is serene and able. I murmured; I picked. (You get my point.) Gardening was not for amateurs. There were dishes in the sink and pancake syrup on the floor. Do snakes have belly buttons?Yvonne Reeves-Chong is speaker, writer, evangelist and witness for "The Defense." As a divorced, single parent, she spent most of her early adult life fully focused on earning enough money to support and raise her son. (Organic always means hand-to-hand combat with weeds and manure.) A great idea, but hard, dirty work. If her outsides had seemed gentle and poised, her insides were even more. (Wrong number) I picked up the baby. Others still are hearts.I am a belly button- Calamity Jane is my patron saint.I am mishap and mayhem, tornado and flood. I looked at the snake. Yuck. It had a peculiar blend of Grace's efficiency and my ineptness. The only chores left were fence painting, roof repair, and the victory garden. I was orderly. I jumped on the peas. Motionless. THWACK! The melon exploded under the weight of my ample rear end. (That was Grace.) The rows were decidedly un-row-like. Some are hands. ?The Seed is the Word of God.?She re-focused her life from the financial bottom-line to God?s evangelistic bottom-line. (Plant and weeds look the same- green with leaves)Mostly, I got to know Grace better. I planned. I jumped on the collards."What? What is it?" Grace raced down the row.I hollered. Her curls stay curly. Grace prepared and planned. Each year, our pastor asks volunteers to work around the church. She picked the garden, on purpose! Since I didn't share her zeal, she led. So, I made a decision; I would change. (What are rutabagas and do real people eat them?) According to Grace, all we needed were fertilizers, shovels, rakes, gloves, spreaders, seeds, and an occasional rain. (I might be over simplifying.) Our church fought hunger by giving homegrown, organic vegetables to the poor. There was one black seed stuck on her forehead, another on her chin."Drop the snake."There I sat, atop a smashed watermelon in the middle of the victory garden. I shook. I was determined. I loosed the snake and watched it slither away in terror.Motionless, she stood. Maybe, the snake had me. I followed. There was tilling, fertilizing, seeding, weeding, and, lastly, harvesting. (That lesson came after we weeded and before I re-planted.) She even taught me to beat the berry bushes carefully with a stick before picking the vegetables. I was worn out.So on the third Wednesday of September last, I was woodenly following The Plan. The rows were alphabetically ordered- beans, beets, berries, butter squash... We planted. Then, she laughed. I yowled. I was in no mood for her.... Fortunately, I had an observant babysitter and a forgiving client. Grace pruned and pointed; I did. Seeds, rind, and gooey chunks flew everywhere. I added detergent and bleach to the hot water in the washer (allow the machine to fill completely before adding soiled linens.) I gathered the kids' toys from the bedroom floor, while waiting for the washer to fill. But, I had forgotten my capable and efficient teammate. And then, more harvesting. Grace was a professional doer not a quitter. And I laughed. I made the only possible choice- the victory garden.My teammate was Grace. I howled."Drop the snake! Shut up and drop the snake!"I hollered. Hands, heads, and belly buttons.We volunteered to do the garden next year. So, I prepared. Her creases stay creased. She understood profit- ?get it; then get more.?But, the Holy Spirit kept prompting her with this question, ?What is My bottom-line?? In study, it was clear. I looked up at Grace. I coordinated my clothing. One time, I even forgot to wear my skirt. Grace re-did what I did.I learned there was more to gardening than planting and picking. She's hands and head all spun together. I creased my trousers. I answered the phone. (Snakes!)She was goodness and grace. For two weeks, four days and 13 hours, I was successful. I worked at the edge of the garden, far away from Grace. Obviously, Grace didn't know the legend of Calamity Jane. OK. My shoes matched. I was undone.Calamity Jane was back.I dragged to church the next morning- seventeen minutes late. She spent twenty-five years as a salesperson, administrator, and finance manager. She was the Victory Garden Queen.She was undaunted by a few hundred chemicals, flesh-mangling farm implements, and seed packages with unknown names. God?s bottom-line is Salvation. (Her stomach started to agitate.) I loaded dark clothes into the machine. Splattering everything...Including Grace.Motionless, she stood. All the relatively light-dirt jobs were gone, piano dusting, pew polishing, etc. A stupid, useless, lint hole. Calamity Jane rides again.Grace is the pastor's wife. The phone rang. I could be capable and efficient. Have you ever considered your belly button? It's right in the middle of perfectly good--if not perfectly flat--stomach. She was truly wonderful. It was named for the World War II plan to defeat the Nazis with homegrown veggies. Timberland HommeI grumbled; I picked up a snake.SNAKE!I screeched and vaulted over two rows of beets and one of beans. We are the Body of Christ. I still held the snake."Put it down!"I hollered. The baby was cranky and I was running late for a meeting. I thought about the disaster I had left in the kitchen. I was a belly button. And, we laughed and laughed. I yowled. I was in no mood for her gracefulness. I showed up. I had a blouse, jacket, two blue shoes, the baby, diaper bag, burp rag, a briefcase, and a heavy polyester slip.But, No skirt. Even if not effortless, I was efficient. Effortless.I didn't know her very well before last spring- before the garden party. Yvonne understood harvest principles and had one measure of success. As much as I had come to admire Grace, I wouldn't miss this weekly reminder of my failure. Grace will provide all efficiency needed to do the job and I'll bring enough mayhem to make it fun.I wonder... We were going to need unceasing prayer!Progress was painfully slow but, eventually, the victory garden took shape. Now her sole determination is to sow God?s Word- until she leaves the earth by translation, rapture, or at 120 years of age with her eyes not dimmed and her natural force not abated.You can reach Yvonne at http://www.SeedistheWord.com.

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