Thank you for joining us!
Before we begin our devotional, I wanted to share a Comment Highlight from last week:
Last Monday, I wrote about my inability to hang a favorite piece of art and what that says about perfectionism. On that post,
commented:I love this. Why is hanging art so hard!? And also I adore Andrew Wyeth and feel a deep, deep connect with him. My family has had several close encounters with the Wyeth inner circle and I’ve visited the spot where Christina’s World was started. I think Andy was such a trickster and impulsive contrarian that he would love for you to hang Christina’s World in a decidedly imperfect place. Maybe think of the rowdy spirit of the painter when you hang your favorite piece? :)
This comment gave me such a smile, Ema! Thank you for commenting! Ema Hegberg writes a newsletter here on Substack called Peace of the Whole, which is a fantastic resource for natural cycles, especially menstruation!
If you want a chance to be featured in next week’s Comment Highlight, all you have to do is post a comment on any of this week’s posts or threads. That’s it!
Now, on with this week’s devotional…
the miracle is: that some things when buried do not dissolve or disappear, but multiply; pieces of gold under the soil are static, lifeless unless they are potatoes, peels winking yellow reaching white fingers up to form great branching stalks; green umbrellas under which the true gospel of generosity is taught.
Potatoes have a well-deserved reputation for being fun and simple to grow. They really don’t need much convincing, as anyone who has left a potato out on the counter for too long can attest. With the right mix of temperature and light they will sprout, reaching long tendrils out and out, expecting to be planted.
This can get especially otherworldly if the sprouting potatoes are kept in a brown bag, drawer, or cupboard. Many a time I’ve been disturbed by the uncanny creature-like shapes formed by sprouts stretching and branching toward even the dimmest source of light. They are tenacious to the point of eeriness.
For the past few years I have planted store-bought potatoes that unintentionally sprouted in storage. This, for the sake of economy and thrift, and also ensuring that we would grow the varieties of potato that we know we like: Yukon Golds and Russets.
But there is a downside to this. Store-bought potatoes are not meant for planting, they are meant for eating. So those who grew them didn’t test them for any genetic anomalies or issues that wouldn’t show up in cooking but WOULD show up in a second or third generation. So while planting storebought potatoes certainly works, and it’s definitely preferable to throwing them away when they sprout, it’s not exactly the most reliable, sustainable source of healthy potatoes longterm.
This year, for a little more reliability, I bit the bullet and bought seed potatoes from a seed company I know and swear by, and they arrived the day before Saint Patrick’s Day (which felt a little too on-the-nose). The Saint’s day was our first 60-degree day of the year, so off I trotted with two pounds of potatoes cut into 30 pieces, a bed covered in new compost, and a prayer that this would be the best year yet for one of our kitchen favorites.
The thing about potatoes is that they are generous by nature. Depending on the variety, one piece of seed potato will make one potato plant, and on average each plant may give you 8-10 more potatoes. But all the magic happens underground. You won’t know for sure until the end of the season, when it’s time to dig them up and be amazed at the buried treasure you find.
This kind of invisible generosity is intoxicating to me. It makes me wonder what other invisible forces are building piles of blessings without my knowledge, hidden away until they’re ready.
Only a God of great mercy would create something like the prodigal potato, a plant that grows to give and give. What other golden miracles are born from what looks like death, sprouting blindly in the dark, reaching ghostly fingers toward the light?
It makes me think. Perhaps there are other hoards and storehouses of good things maturing under my feet, in the darkest corners of the garden, the places I write off, the places I ignore. And perhaps, someday, I’ll have the courage to dig them up.
Thank you for reading!
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A lovely piece. I’m having fond memories of planting, tending and harvesting potatoes on small farms coming up now. So much work, and yet I remember the glee each time I’d bring up a potato (particularly if it was unscathed by the fork). And thank you so much for the share. I’m glad my comment brought a smile to your face!