Lichen

If you walk out of our Wyoming cabin door it looks like this right now.

Bland. Monotone. Super pokey. Kind of ugly. (Unless you’re into natural neutrals, which I SO am!) Wheatville. And yes, I know it’s not really wheat, I just call it that.

But after walking ten minutes uphill to secure one bar of reception you would find a break in the wheat. You would spy this completely fetching rock.

And then, because the glorious rock is displaying all your favorite colors to wear, you might crouch down to examine it even closer. Look at that texture. Look at that detail. Look at those color schemes. 

And a few minutes from that rock, there’s another one, with a lichen heart plastered on it. And on, and on.

It seems that while you could safely and accurately assess you are surrounded by wheat there are actually splashes and dashes of color here, there, and every which where. Isaiah said it best:

For the Lord shall comfort Zion: he will comfort all her waste places; and he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody.

I’m going to lichen the scriptures to life. Ba dum dum. But really:

If your life feels desaturated,

and your past, present, and future look like builder’s beige,

and spring seems forever away,

and you feel a bit faithless concerning the joy everyone is talking about,

and you can’t even muster the oomph to look up,

take comfort.

Heavenly Father has scattered love notes, and hope hints, and angels all over that wheat. And you’ll find them. Just keep moving.

Isaiah 51:3

"The universe was designed to testify of Christ." -Todd B. Parker

All of this really reminds me of S.H.—my gorgeous rock hound friend who wears the same colors I do. She suddenly lost her mom last month and is finding beauty in the beigey span of loss. To me, the real treasure is she has no regrets about their earthly relationship.

Seed

Free record-holding seeds. I was given a packet of potential at the Harvest Festival at Thanksgiving Point by a nice man who has devoted his life, weekends, and email handle to growing giant tomatoes. I saw a tomato the size of a cantaloupe, a cantaloupe the size of a pumpkin, and pumpkins the size of smart cars. Gourds resembling eight-foot baguettes were taped to 2x4s so they wouldn’t snap before judging and ribbon-pinning. I strolled past palettes of giant produce—some weighing over 500 pounds—like I was spending an afternoon at The Met. The boys collected bouquets of maple leaves, Greg took all the scrapbook photo ops I requested, and I bought a polished ammonite fossil from the rock booth.

Yesterday I kept thinking about the free seeds and how willingly the man handed them out. Would you like some prize-winning tomato seeds? he said as he stretched over the table and leaned into every passerby. His eagerness stopped me; he held a glassine envelope and a funnel so I could watch the seeds drop into my possession. Then serious instructions, because these were no ordinary seeds, and his info in case of emergency as he tucked the seed pouch into a coin envelope for safer keeping. You can do it, you can grow legendary tomatoes! was his last cheer as he gift wrapped the envelope with an Avery label of printed care instructions.

It’s a dog eat dog world. (Although I just read Archer a book about snakes and grossly discovered that most snakes eat other snakes. I’m so bothered by this. So maybe it’s a snake eat snake world…) Nowadays if someone has the best of something, they protect it. A patent, a copyright, a trademark. If it’s our personal best, we protect it with our pride. We seem to hold winning hands close to our chests—protecting ourselves from all the rubberneckers and swindlers running amuck. Proprietary prowess just ain’t handed out for free, no sir.

The seed man was, however, godly in his generosity.

His approach reminded me of Heavenly Father, who in his perfection offers seeds of perfection to anyone who will take them. Didn't He master plan a garden of success and happiness? He wants us to become like Him and promises we can do so. We are his seed. Isn’t that all the guarantee we need?

As the literal father of our spirits, didn’t he tuck deity inside every child born on earth? Didn’t he carefully wrap each beloved spirit offspring with a fleshy tabernacle, a mortal opportunity, and a direct, 24/7 helpline? Didn’t he give us serious instructions and good cheer through living prophets and apostles, scriptures, missionaries, temples, and the gift of the Holy Ghost? And didn’t He protect His work and His glory with the extra layer safety wrap of a Savior who could handle any of our growing concerns?

Heavenly Father wants every single one of us to become extraordinary. He wants us to become our own “Best in Show” against older versions of ourselves. Not only does He willingly offer his help, He consistently offers His all to all. Relationships that endure beyond the grave, creative license to form worlds without end, everlasting warmth and unbreakable love—no one need be exempt. None are forbidden, he hath given it free for all men.*

A divine paragon who offers His best—perfection and exaltation—to anyone who is willing to work for it must not be a God concerned about competition, but a Father who craves company.

*2 Nephi 26:24-28, Genesis 28:10-22

It's true that you
Are touched by something
That will grow in you

-lyric from "These Are Days" by 10,000 Maniacs (one of my top ten favorite lifetime songs for sure)