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Make Me Like A Well Watered Garden

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MAKE ME LIKE A WELL-WATERED GARDEN

It was the spring of 1980. My husband Ken and I had been in our first pastorate in the San Joaquin Valley of California, known as the nation’s “Garden Spot”, for almost a year. During the summer of ’79, several of our church members had generously shared with us the fruits of their labors in their gardens – and it seemed that everyone had a garden. Thus, when the spring of 1980 arrived, I, who never liked working in the dirt; I, who would rather wash, starch and iron shirts than dig in a flower bed or weed a garden, decided we should have a vegetable garden. The former pastor had two – BIG ONES – so surely, with the help of my pastor husband, who was reared on the farm, we could have a lovely garden that would produce enough vegetables to feed us through what Californians refer to as winter. Being the submissive wife that I was, I asked Ken what I needed to do first. He borrowed a tiller (whatever that is) and began to prepare the soil for seeding. All the weeds were cleared away, so that nothing was left but beautiful rich, brown dirt. Then he made these little indentations, called furrows, down through the freshly plowed dirt and smoothed it all out to perfection. Then I had to do the REAL work – I dropped the seeds in those little furrows. He came along behind me, covered the seeds with dirt, patted it down just so, and then watered the entire plot. I was so proud! I had planted a garden! About three days later I said to

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