From the Dirt . . .

 Like a lot of Americans my heritage is well populated with farmers.  Family lore is full of stories about mules, corn, cotton, and cows that weren't eager to be milked.  Again, like most of my countrymen, I have no personal involvement with agriculture as a way of life.  I am glad, however, to have spent my life living in a place that keeps me close to the dirt.

I've eaten far more venison from the woods than beef or pork from the meat market in the last forty years.  Don't be impressed.  I'm not a hunter, but the hunters in my tribe keep me well supplied.  I have a great appreciation for home-grown tomatoes, and other garden eats.  For most of my life these flavorful orbs were grown at somebody else's home, but for the past couple of years I've grown some of my own--very modest scale--and though my maters aren't as pretty as some grown by others, I enjoy them greatly.  

Looking out on the mountains where that steak once lived, or washing dirt off vegetables--dirt enriched by mulch I spread--reminds me of the origin of food. God made this world so it, even cursed by sin as it is, if given a chance, will bring forth an abundance.  It is good to be reminded that every good gift comes down from above.  When the good gifts we are talking about adorn our dinner table, we can can trace them back to the fecundity God put into the ground beneath our feet.  

Thank You, Lord!

Friday at CBC we'll hold our annual wild feast.  I don't want to give you the wrong idea.  It's not anything like a communion service.  The mood is light and fun, but it is a celebration of God's provision.  For those of us who mostly unwrap our food, instead of skin it, it's a good reminder.  You are welcome to join us.  Just let us know.

Thanks, Lord.