🌿 PART 1 — Rooted Lessons
By Guest Contributor: Robin Grimes
(Introduction and closing reflection by Pastor Dee)
Introduction
Every so often, the Lord allows us to meet someone whose everyday life becomes a living parable of His goodness. My friend and sister in Christ, Robin Grimes, is that kind of gift.
Robin is a master gardener — not by title alone, but by heart. Her orchard, her soil, her compost, her flowers and vegetables… all of them preach sermons. And she shares these glimpses of God’s grace daily through videos and reflections that bless so many of us.
Today, I’m humbled to feature her writing.
May her testimony speak to your soul as deeply as it has spoken to mine.
🌱 Rooted: Reflections From My Garden and Orchard
By Robin Grimes
I’ve been thinking today about why gardening means so much to me.
I did not grow up a “rooted” child. My family moved frequently — Army life — and our home was fractured at best, with an absentee father who wasn’t interested in us even when he was there.
We lived in base housing, apartments, and trailer parks until I was ten. I never had a home or a yard to call my own.
I believe that has much to do with my grown-up desire to plant, tend, and harvest my own piece of ground.
And God, who always saw me and knew my heart, provided.
“Then the Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to tend and keep it.” — Genesis 2:15
He placed me on an acre and an eighth of stickers, weeds, and dirt — not a tree or shrub in sight! Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor?
This was ground untouched by a woman’s or man’s hand. But of course, He created this very ground in the beginning — along with the good works He prepared for me to walk in.
As a child, I spent a lot of time lying about my circumstances. Being raised by wildly unhappy, eventually divorced parents carried a stigma, and I wanted to escape that shame.
But what I found about gardening is this:
🌾 Gardening is a truthful endeavor.
The soil itself tells the truth.
It was cursed with us at the fall,
and the work required to bring life from it
reminds me daily of my own sin nature.
I cannot hide my weakness from the garden.
I cannot pretend my laziness doesn’t exist.
My orchard and garden reflect exactly who I am
and what I do — or fail to do.
A garden cannot be managed by image.
An orchard cannot thrive on pretense.
Trees need timely, protective care.
Compost and fertilizer must be applied regularly.
Weeds must be pulled relentlessly.
“Friendly plants” must be placed close together so they can strengthen and protect each other.
The garden humbles me.
And it points me to the community of Christ — the church —
and to God alone, who brings forth fruit in ground and in people.
Last year, the Lord used my stubborn green beans to teach me about His timing — and my impatience. For two months, they were lush and green but fruitless. According to the seed packet, they should have been in full fruiting.
I exhausted myself researching ways to amend the soil. I tried everything. Nothing worked. I decided the seeds must have been bad and that I’d pull the vines up when I returned from an eight-day trip.
But when I came home…
🌿 They were loaded with beans.
In my absence —
out of my control —
in God’s perfect timing —
they produced.
It was a humbling revelation of my impatience
and my unrecognized self-reliance.
I had been trusting in my own wisdom and effort
instead of trusting the God who brings forth fruit in His time.
I am humbled by my garden daily.
And grateful.
May God be glorified in all we do.
— Robin
Closing Reflection
Robin’s story reminds us that God is still forming His people through the earth He made — through soil and seed, through waiting and weeding, through work and wonder.
Her orchard is a place of discipleship.
Her garden is a mirror of sanctification.
Her life is fruit born of God’s faithful tending.
May her words help you recognize the sacred lessons growing right where God has planted you.
And may you find, like she has, that the God who forms gardens still forms souls — with patience, truth, and immeasurable grace.
Heavenly Father,
Creator of soil and soul,
we thank You for the way You speak through what You have made.
Thank You for roots that grow unseen,
for lessons learned in waiting,
for truth revealed when we can no longer pretend.
Thank You for the holy work of tending — pulling weeds, amending soil,
trusting You when growth feels slow or absent.
Teach us to rest in Your timing
when our efforts feel fruitless.
Guard us from self-reliance,
and draw us back to the truth
that You alone bring forth life.
Where You have planted us,
form us.
Humble us.
Grow us.
May we live rooted in Christ,
connected to one another,
and faithful in the quiet work of obedience —
trusting that in due season,
You will cause fruit to appear.
We place our lives, our labor, and our longing
into Your faithful hands.
Be glorified in us.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
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