The Wildflowers of Fallow

As I Was Saying is a forum for a variety of perspectives to foster faith-related conversations among our readers with the goal of mutual learning, even in disagreement. Apart from articles written by editorial staff, these perspectives do not necessarily reflect the views of The Banner.

The hot August sun beat down as I approached the vacant ruins of the old community garden. It was a summer of fallow.

For years a thriving place of connection, planting, seed sharing, teaching, and friendship amidst a rushing urban sea of roads and homes, now only emptiness and wind remained.

No vestiges endured of the garden’s wooden boxes, decorations, plants, or tools; all had vanished the autumn prior when the land had been put up for sale.

For months, I’d avoided the ruins as much as I could, taking longer routes around the neighborhood. I couldn’t bear to see the ugliness marring the once carefully cultivated oasis. But on that hot day, I found myself inexplicably drawing near.

As I reached the lot, I stopped in shock. Astonishingly, the land was nothing like the barren ugliness I’d envisioned. There were no ruins. Instead, throughout the whole property, the most beautiful wildflowers bloomed.

Hundreds of flowers—brown-eyed Susans, sunflowers, sweet peas, cornflowers, and others—danced through the windswept grass of the former community garden like a song of extravagant praise.

For years upon years, seeds had been lovingly sown by many people in the various boxes throughout this garden. While the boxes had been removed and the garden dismantled, those sown seeds lived on.

It makes me think about those going through challenging times of dismantling in their lives. It might feel like all hope is lost, or even be a time when one’s faith has been challenged to its roots. In all our lives, there are seasons and situations where all we see are ruins.

Sometimes, that difficulty occurs within a community one dearly loves, an utter ripping from the inside out.

When this happens, the ground is seemingly pulled out beneath us. In the hardest of those seasons, one’s faith might even feel like it is the size of a mustard seed.

And yet, just like the land of my former community garden, these times of struggle do not nullify the many seeds our Creator has faithfully sown within us for years upon years.

Even in the darkest, most difficult, and most painful times when faith seems small and life is hard, what looks like barren ground actually carries within it those lovingly sown seeds.

When those times of hardship hit and a fallow year arrives, it is easy to grieve deeply for what seemingly was lost. It might seem impossible to envision what will—or ever could—grow again in this empty land.

But when our Savior has lovingly sown seeds in one’s heart, life, and spirit for many years, those seeds remain when the fallow years hit. And, in due time, wildflowers grow.

May we be encouraged by the beautiful words of Jesus in John 15:1-8:

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the words I have spoken to you. Remain in me, as I also remain in you.

No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned.

If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.