Emptiness of a Clean Manger

Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox. - Proverbs 14:4 

I like to be tidy and organized. I wish my house were cleaner than it ever is (having a toddler running about making messes defeats my efforts most of the time). I desire orderly days and routines I can count on.

Change? No, thank you. Spontaneity? Only if it's planned.

Whenever there's a trip looming in my future, even just a short drive up to visit my family in a nearby town, I tend to feel stressed. The routines I have established at home will not be there and I am not exactly confident in what I can expect, so I worry. I'm currently in the midst of a travel-intense season, and each trip is for a wonderful purpose (visiting family and relaxing vacation), but I am a tightly-wound stress ball. I know our routines related to meals and bedtime and sleep will be disrupted, and I know emotional strain and tiredness will ensue, and I know there will be messy challenges. Long car drives with four small children (my daughter and three nieces) are hard, and airports are hard. No matter the approach, I know these trips will take lots of flexibility on my part.

In the first half of the proverb about the oxen, I get the sense that the writer is being ironic. How can one have a manger with no oxen? If one has no oxen, then what is the manger for? Of course one must need oxen if one has a manger or one wouldn't have built the manger in the first place. It's an odd image, an empty manger. But the manger is clean. Isn't that appealing? Also, with no oxen, one doesn't have the expense of feeding and caring for the oxen. That sounds easy.

But, as the writer states, how else can a farmer sow and reap an abundant harvest except through the help of the strong ox? The farmer desires an abundant crop, so he puts up with cleaning the messy manger. The benefits of having the oxen outweigh the challenges.

Similarly, if I desire an abundant life, I must deal with the inconveniences that come along with children, a spouse, family, friends, travels, cooking, etc. Relationships are messy, but they are worthwhile. Building a home focused more on flourishing lives than on sparkling cleanliness is frustrating at times, but can influence my family and friends for the better. Travels for the sake of spending time with faraway family and vacations that allow reconnecting with my spouse are challenging endeavors, but they also provide abundance: deep conversations, games, laughter, shared meals, new experiences, future memories, rest.

I could stay home, furiously maintain an organized, spotless house, and never change the routine, keeping the manger empty and clean. However, I would be robbing myself of the abundant life that I can have if I let in that ox, enjoy the feast from the bountiful harvest, and, with a grateful attitude, clean up his poo, perhaps with a grimace on my face.

Alternate Packing List

Everyday Basics:

• smiles
• laughter
• kindness
• patience
• songs

Must-Haves:

• prayer
• verses tucked away in hidden pockets

Don't Forget:

• flexibility
• deep breaths
• lots of hugs

In Case of Emergency:

• spare big-girl panties

Pruning

In my small group at church we've talked about pruning a couple of times now. In John 15:1-2, Jesus says, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." The book our group is reading together, Trusting God by Jerry Bridges, discusses this passage a bit as a way of explaining some of the adversity that Christians encounter. Adversity is a way for God to "prune" us so we can become more fruitful. Even though pruning is not a fun experience, we are supposed to be glad when we recognize it because we know God has good plans in mind.

I know that pruning can take various forms. Perhaps God takes away an opportunity to do something I was looking forward to so I learn to rejoice in Him. Perhaps He makes getting enough sleep an impossibility for a while so I learn to rely on Him more. Perhaps He takes away my familiar surroundings and moves me to a new place with new people and a new job so I learn that my true identity is based in Him and not in my circumstances.

We moved to San Antonio just over a year ago, and I became a stay-at-home mom almost two years ago. Those two changes quickly removed me from settings where I felt comfortable and purposeful. I had friends there. It seemed to me that I was someone there. When I started staying at home with my little one and no longer had those stable routines about me, I felt like a dried-up, cut off version of myself. I didn't recognize myself or my purpose anymore.

When we moved into our new house, there was a mystery bush near the fence in the backyard underneath the shade of an oak tree. It was quite tall, about as tall as my husband. During winter it was just branches, but in summer it was covered with dark, pointed leaves. Finally this year my dad identified it for us as a Mexican fire bush. He hadn't recognized it the first summer because it had never bloomed. He told us that it needed sun in order to produce its bright orange flowers. We could move it and hope it started blooming if we took the trouble to dig out its root ball and dig a new hole for it in a sunny spot.

Well, a few weeks ago my husband got out the trimmers and shovel and started to cut and dig. First he pruned the long branches of the shrub so it would not be so unwieldy. Then he cut a wide circle in the soil around the base of the plant. Soon he got to the roots and discovered that those things were massive. We don't know how long some of the roots were because eventually he had to stop digging and simply chop the roots with loppers in order to get the bush out of the ground. The biggest root was about five inches across where he cut it. Finally, after much sweat and probably a few blisters, he was able to move the bush to its new spot, also dug out by him, in a sunnier place. A few days later, my husband reflected, "You know, after moving that fire bush, I feel somehow like it's more mine."

The bush still looks puny right now. It hasn't grown back to its former height, and it has yet to put on greenery for the summer, but we are hopeful that in its new spot it will produce not only pretty leaves, but gorgeous blooms, too. Maybe it will attract butterflies and hummingbirds. It could never have done those things in the old place.

When my Father, the infallible gardener, moves me to a new place, cutting off roots and taking away nice long branches that seem to be doing just fine, I can trust that His purpose is good. He plans for me to be more effective and beautiful, and to bring more glory to Him in the new place. Even if I feel less fruitful for a time immediately after the pruning, I know the end result will be a more abundant life than what was before. Also, as He puts me in new situations that cause me to recognize that my significance comes from Him, He is making me more His own.