My father was born in Soperton, Georgia in the 1920’s.
Soperton is a small, rural town located in Southeast Georgia. His family left
Soperton when he was a teenager, moving to Jacksonville, Florida where he met
and married my mother. My two sisters and I were born in Jacksonville.
As children, when we took family vacations we never slept in
hotels or visited theme parks. Instead, we always stayed with extended family whom
we likely hadn’t seen since the summer before when we made that same trek from
Jacksonville to Soperton.
Often our summer “vacations” were scheduled around Thigpen
family reunions. Dozens of cousins would gather at the Soperton town clubhouse.
There were long rows of tables filled with everyone’s tastiest pot luck. There
was a much food as there was laughter and chatter.
Every summer when we made that trip, or any other time of
the year we found ourselves traveling to see relatives near Soperton, my dad
had one particular stop he always had to make. It was a grove of pecan trees.
It’s been years ago now, but the last time I saw those trees they were probably
75 feet tall and almost as wide as they were tall.
We’d drive by those trees and my dad would tell us how he planted
each one as a seedling. We would all marvel at how huge those trees were and
how much they must have grown since they were first nestled in the ground
graciously and evenly spaced in straight, diagonal rows. My dad was drawn to that
grove of trees, as if the limbs waved longingly at him from a distance, signaling
him to come closer.
Those trees were probably at least 30 years old or more by
the time Dad was taking us to see them. I don’t know what was really going
through his mind when he made his pilgrimages to those trees, but I do know he
never missed an opportunity to visit them. It’s as if they were part of the
family too. They were products of his hard work and effort. It was no longer
his charge to care for them, but he still cared about them. Years later, he still
wanted to see them flourish.
Seeing those pecan trees fully grown and producing crops was
satisfying not only to my father, but to every one of us traveling the road
with him. If we made the trip later in the fall, we may have even stopped to
pick up a handful of nuts. The memory puts a smile on my face and a longing in
my heart.
Trees, seeds, plants, branches, crops, harvests, and all
kinds of agriculture are frequent topics in the Bible. There are mentions of
trees in the Garden of Eden, onions in Egypt, hyssop at the Passover, Zacchaeus’ climb up a sycamore, a withering
fig tree, the ark constructed with acacia wood, palms covering the roadway to
Jerusalem, and cypress and cedar trees that may have been used in making a
cross.
How long does it take for an entire forest (enough to build
an ark) of acacia trees to grow to strong enough to be construction
worthy? How many years prior would they
have been planted? What about Zacchaeus’ sycamore? Or the Jerusalem palms? Or the wood for the
cross? Who else but God could make the harvest timing ripe for the task needed?
Beyond Eden, someone on this earth planted the onions,
hyssop, palms and other plants and trees used for purposes in the entire
biblical narrative. Whoever planted and/or cared for those trees likely had no
idea God would use them to tell His story. They may have been like my dad, even
if they had moved on after planting, still stopping by to pay a visit when
they’re in town, telling his children how dirty he got digging the holes for
them, being amazed at what God has done with it since then.
The seeds we plant matter. I need to be better about
following my dad’s example by being more deliberate and attentive rather than randomly
dropping one or two here or scattering a handful over there. I also need to
follow my Heavenly Father’s example. He has a vision for every seed and the
patience to see it grow into the very thing He meant it for.
Blessed is the one who
does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners
take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of
the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night. That person is
like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in
season and whose leaf does not wither -- whatever they do prospers. Psalm 1:1-3
