I had the immense privilege of growing up on the edge of a family farm.

 

And despite having to run from charging cows a time or two and spending summer days (and Christmas Eve nights, let’s be honest) climbing stacks of hay bales, I can’t claim to be an expert on anything agricultural.

The closest I came to carrying on the family trade was helping with our small garden for a few summers. And “helping” may be a loose term when you consider how very little I had to contribute.

In contrast to my glaringly absent green thumbs, I’ve realized in the years since those summers that I have some great gardeners in my life.

Friends.

Honest, faithful souls who took one look at my overgrown, stubborn-as-red-clay heart and said, “There’s something growing there, and I want to be a part of it.”

Fellow followers of the Lord who knew I had a thing or two to learn about gardening and allowed the Lord to use them to teach me.

They have taught me that a good garden can’t be planted unless the soil is tilled up.

 

A lesson I learned my freshman year of college when a friend I had wounded looked me in the eye, cranked up the tiller, said, “I think you think you’re perfect,” and waited for me to decide whether I was going to allow the dirt of my heart to be overturned in preparation for something greater.

And then, when my painful, exposing confession that she was right sent the dirt of my heart spinning every which way, the same friend offered the kind of forgiveness that makes you want to run around barefoot in all that newly-turned over soil laughing at the joy of restoration.

True friends aren’t afraid to till up my heart when I need that kind of honesty.

They have taught me that a good garden can’t survive unless the weeds are dug up.

 

A lesson I learned my junior year of college when two friends sat me down, pulled out their hoes, asked me why I was so busy, and proceeded to uproot the false significance I was getting from my many activities.

They were in my corner. They noticed the evil. They cared enough to get their hands dirty grabbing my stubborn weeds.

True friends recognize the devious, creeping threats to my growth and go to battle with their shovels on my behalf.

They have taught me that a good garden can’t grow unless the seeds are planted.

 

A lesson I learned my senior year of college when my friends worked in harmony to contribute beautiful variety to my life. Some planted deep truths, some planted encouraging words, some planted the freedom to dream, some planted constant reminders of the character of the Lord.

True friends invest in me with the kind of humility that gives of itself to better me without secretly wanting selfish gain.

They have taught me that a good garden can’t thrive without being watered.

 

A lesson I have learned throughout my life as my friends have watered my heart with soul-knitting fellowship.

They have enriched my life with a hose full of late night talks in baseball outfields and spontaneous dance parties and Cookout milkshakes and porch talks and driving picnics and FaceTime dates and parking lot football.

True friends know that friendship isn’t an emotionless transaction marked by stiff agendas and checklists but a relationship marked by love and fun and the anticipation of the perfect communion of heaven.

And though I marvel at the blessing of friendship I have received, relationships of this nature are nothing new. David and Jonathan shared one of the most awe-inspiring examples of friendship I have ever read.

David invited Jonathan to till up his heart by asking him to identify the sin that was present(1 Samuel 20:8).
Jonathan took his hoe and shovel to battle on David’s behalf—even though the weeds he was fighting were the murderous motives of Jonathan’s own father. (1 Samuel 20:9)

Jonathan planted seeds of affirmation in David’s life by making a covenant to solidify their relationship—with no evident jealousy over the fact that David was the future king instead of him. (1 Samuel 18:3)

David’s and Jonathan’s souls were knit together with the kind of love and strength that withstood threats of murder and wept over separation (1 Samuel 18:3; 1 Samuel 20:41).
As they parted ways without knowing if they would ever see each other again, Jonathan said, likely through tears, “The Lord will be between me and you, and between my descendants and your descendants forever.”

So as we strive after the kind of gut-level vulnerability that allows our friends to garden our hearts, may the Lord forge a dirt-tilling, weed-pulling, seed-planting, soul-watering bond between us.

And may the harvest of our hearts be plentiful.