On Raising Savages: Roots
- solidfoodpress
- Aug 7
- 15 min read
By Kris Green
After mowing my yard, I push the lawnmower toward the back door and start cleaning up. I inhale the smell of fresh-cut grass and try not to remember that I once read that the scent is the plant’s way of crying out in pain.
My yard looks okay. Not great, but okay. A lot of the yard work over the winter months in Florida consists of raking leaves and trying not to let the grass die. As spring and summer go into full fury, the rain will begin, and the yard will grow.
Trying to assess my plants, I walk around looking at each one. The avocado tree that was planted when my son was born is now taller than I am—no avocados yet. The mango tree is growing more slowly, but looks good. Both have leaves that look as if something has taken a bite from them.
My gardenias are dying. Their leaves are black, holding onto what few they have. I pull a branch, and it snaps easily in my hand. There’s a 50/50 chance that what I plant will live, and these have held on for a few years, so I want to do my best by them. Someone at work told me to lay down fertilizer and to prune.
My jasmine, which are fighting their own battle in my front yard, have been doing better since I pruned them last month. Jasmine wants to climb. I put up a wooden trellis along the side of our home. The two jasmine have reached each other as they climb the trellis, blossoming its tiny white flowers. I need a new fence, I consider, thinking the Jasmine would be happier there rather than along the side of my house.
I care about my jasmine and my gardenias more than the others because there’s something special about their smell. I tell my children that when you smell them, it is the smell of heaven.
Exodus begins with the climate of what is going on in Egypt. Pharaohs have come and gone. The Israelites have grown in numbers. While the two groups of people have been on good terms, out of fear for the Israelites’ numbers rivaling their own, the Egyptians have enslaved the Israelites.
Moses is born as the number of Israelites keep rising despite slavery and brutality. Newborn males are being killed as soon as they are out of the womb. Moses’s mother pushes him out onto the Nile in a reed basket, hoping someone will save her boy. It’s a last-ditch effort to try and save her son.
When one of Pharaoh’s daughters finds the baby, the boy is saved. They find a midwife to help raise the child, not realizing that she is Moses’s birth mother. Moses is raised knowing the best of both worlds. He knows the Israelite heritage, but also the wealth and promise that comes from Egyptian royalty.
My kids aren’t very good at yardwork. My son turns six in a couple of months, and my daughter is a vicious three-year-old. But they come out sometimes and try to help. Half the time, they get distracted by the pile of leaves and undo all the work I’ve accomplished. Or they get their hands on the leaf blower and create more work to be done.
It’s important to involve them. I want them to be comfortable getting their hands dirty. With the lawnmower and tools still by my back door, I get them and ask if they want to go to the store with me.
I tell them several times, they can come with me to Ace Hardware, but they are not allowed to buy anything. When we walk in, Ace Hardware has a row of toys lining the front of the store. My son holds a toy snake lovingly, which for a second I’m tempted to buy, but I know that might be the only love that toy snake will get before it’s discarded in a pile of other toys. I remind them I had said no to buying anything. Receiving a few grins from other patrons, I herd them toward the fertilizer and other gardening tools.
I want my kids to understand that no doesn’t always mean no. I want them to think about things that I want to hear and to work to be persuasive. This is a fun back and forth for me, but it does cause unintentional stress as my wife is just trying to make it through JCPenney.
I pause at the birdfeeders, thinking maybe we need one, when my son speaks up.
“Dad, I don’t know where my gardening gloves are.”
“Okay,” I say, not really engaging, looking at prices and wondering if Amazon is cheaper.
“I think we should get these gloves for me and Natalie, that way, we can help you in the yard.”
I lose interest in the birdfeeders and look at him. His face has no guile. He’s not trying to manipulate or anything, but smiles sweetly and says innocently, “I can also use the gloves when I climb in the backyard.”
A plant begins growing before it ever breaches the surface of the soil. It begins as a seed. The seed slowly hatches and sprouts downward and then upward as it stretches to find a footing in the earth before growing up and out.
Jesus says the kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. While it’s the smallest of the seeds, it grows into one of the biggest plants.
I heard in a sermon once that said Jewish gardens in Jesus’ day outlawed mustard seeds. Mustard seeds had a reputation for growing without order. Jewish gardens were very orderly. Everything had to grow in its right place. But the mustard plant would grow up and not stay in its place, then spread its seeds. The seeds would grow everywhere and begin to overtake the whole garden. Maybe that’s why he says if you have faith like a mustard seed, you can move mountains.
The seed begins small. It’s underground and unseen. It stretches out and down to get a foothold before moving up. The seed holds a promise of more life to come.
When Moses is forty, he sees an Egyptian beating an Israelite, and he kills the Egyptian. The next day, when he sees two Israelites fighting, he calls them out. How can they be free if they are not united?
Their response: “Who made you our leader? Are you going to kill us like you killed that Egyptian?”
Word has spread. Moses flees for his life.
But why did he try to stop the Israelites from fighting? Why did he kill the Egyptian? What seed was planted in his heart long ago that was beginning to sprout and come alive?
Moses wants to do the right thing. He cares for the Israelites but doesn’t know how to take care of them. “Who made you our leader?” they demand. And that’s just it—no one. Not yet.
For a long time, I’ve dreamt of teaching the Bible.
Not being a pastor, although that thought has come up from time to time. But wanting to use my creativity and energy toward having the Bible come alive for people. Heartbreakingly, so many people don’t know the Bible like they should. Although I am blessed to be able to write and allow this to blossom into something amazing, and I am very grateful for those who help me on my publishing journey, still, the daydream fantasies of teaching the Word persist inside my heart. The dream is not being alone in my office with a cup of coffee, but standing in front of people.
Halfway through last year, I began serving in my church and leading a small group. By the beginning of this year, both have drifted by the wayside.
I prune my gardenias and let the little branches fall to the ground, where both my children dutifully pick them up, using their new gloves, and put it in the garbage can I use for leaves.
I walk around the yard, attacking several plants. If I’m going to prune one, I’m going to prune several. It’s been an overdue chore already.
My son runs around grabbing some of the larger branches, wanting to help, but also easily getting distracted. He swats a tree with the branch as I call my daughter over to the gardenias.
Below them, some weeds have sprouted. We start to pull them, and I show her how. You pinch on the base and don’t yank, but rather wiggle and pull so that you get the root.
She giggles the first time she does it successfully. We look at it. The root is twice as long as the plant itself. I tell her (I’m aware that telling a three-year-old a life lesson like this is as useful as Moses killing an Egyptian for the freedom of the Israelites), “If there is something in your life you want to change, you pull the root out of it. Get the part that nobody can see and fix that first, and then you will be able to try changing.”
I point at the root that stretches twice as long as the weed. I talk about how the surface of things, while they may not look big, go deep inside. I tell her this as I tell my son. I will tell them every time they come up to me as I weed. It is my prayer that they’ll take this lesson to heart.
A.W. Tozer said that anyone who desires leadership is disqualified because he wants it for the wrong purposes.
I search my heart. Why do I want to teach? Is it some kind of power-trip? No, I don’t think so. Is it wealth? No. Hardy har har, the ministry seems to provide fortune only to the corrupt. So is it validation? Maybe.
I want to do something good, more than what I’m doing, more than what my job offers. I want to make the world better. I want to help the kingdom of heaven. My job pays the bills, but I’m not always sure I’m actively making the world a better place so much as putting out fires and trying to keep people happy.
I don’t know that it’s an evil desire to want to be more than I am. But I want to be more.
Everything I really know about pruning I know from John 15. Jesus says:
“I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit, He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit. You are already clean because of the word which I have spoken to you. Remain in Me, and I in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit of itself but must remain in the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in Me. I am the vine, you are the branches; the one who remains in Me, and I in him bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing” (v.1-5; NASB).
Moses wants to do the right thing but can’t. He flees Egypt after committing murder.
Whether or not he has a fully formed dream or what he desires for God to do, or it’s just a moment of passion, Moses’ life changes completely once he enters the wilderness of his own journey. He has no plan. He has no help. All he knows is Egypt.
When some shepherds harass some women at a well, Moses intervenes. Jethro, the father of the women, seeks out this good man who helped his daughters. After meeting him, he decides this is a good man. He invites Moses to marry one of them and join his family.
Moses marries and, probably at this point in his life, assumes the dreams he has about his people finding freedom are lost. His dream, which is only a seed at this point, is dead.
My daughter grabs at a branch of the gardenias and pulls as hard as she can. It doesn’t budge, and part of me rejoices, thinking at least some of the branches still have life to fight a three-year-old.
“See,” I tell her, “We don’t want to cut all the branches. We want to cut the ones that look dead. Do you see?”
“Yeah,” Natalie says. I know she doesn’t see it the same way I do.
“Let’s leave that one okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“If the branch isn’t producing flowers and growing, it’s not doing its job. So, we cut it. But the good ones, well, let me make that choice.”
The small group fell apart partially because of busyness. Everyone is trying to do more. The families are all orchestrating their playdates with their kids on top of sports and other events, and a small group just became too much. It just seemed to evaporate, as so many things tend to do.
I felt horribly guilty over it. I felt like I should do more, and then when I couldn’t be there for these people, I questioned what I was even doing.
Then I’m serving in the church with the hopeful promise to one day teach, and as I’m doing it, I’m spending an evening away from my wife and kids. I’m standing as a door greeter, thinking I shouldn’t be here either. If I’m faithful with the little things, then you’ll be faithful with the big things. I’m holding a door. I’m waiting for people to show up. All the while, I feel like I’m failing at my first calling—to be a husband and father.
Moses has done some good things. He reflects on them as he shepherds sheep. He’s got a family. He’s got a job.
At night, he lies awake thinking about his people. He still hears echoes of Egypt. He feels guilty over killing the Egyptian. He cries out to God, asking for something, but maybe at this time, he can’t quite touch it. It’s not even a dream because it feels so distant. It’s just far away.
He reflects on how much time has passed. Forty years he was in Egypt, and now forty years as a shepherd wandering the wild world.
Why did Moses have to spend forty years in the wilderness?
One of my favorite verses in the Bible is Moses addressing the people of Israel.
“He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your ancestors had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord” (Deut. 8:3; NIV).
Moses can tell the people of Israel that God was humbling them because he went through forty years of humbling from God.
Moses dreams of God’s people being free from slavery. God wants Moses to know the dream cannot be personified by Moses but by God alone. God used those forty years to slowly chip away at Moses’ motivations and dreams and reduce them to what the Almighty has truly envisioned. Moses can only surrender.
The joke I had around Ash Wednesday was “This year for Lent, I’m just giving up.” The joke lasted a day, maybe two, before I thought: why not?
I’d been writing every day for over five years. I’ve been faithful with working out and reading, and putting more pressure on myself for everything.
For Lent, I gave up trying to do more, be more, and just was.
I missed writing horribly. A friend accused me of being addicted. Maybe. I missed my morning routine. But I also had some new, wonderful memories of times with my children and my wife.
I gave up because I needed to re-prioritize. I needed to address the growing thing in my heart that said my success was based on how hard I worked and how much I sacrificed. If I’m leaning on that, then I’m not leaning on God. I didn’t have to give up writing, but maybe I needed to in order to just surrender it on a deeper level.
My son grabs the pile of leaves and throws it at his sister. Her shoulders shrug upward as she laughs and runs in the other direction.
I fight the frustration of having the re-rake the leaves. I call my son over.
“Why do we rake the leaves?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know?” I ask my daughter.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, why?”
“I don’t know, ” she says finally.
“We rake the leaves because otherwise, they will suffocate the grass. The grass won’t be able to grow. We need to take out the leaves because they are dead, and rather than let them make the grass dead, we get rid of them.”
My kids run off. I wonder how many times I’ll say the same thing. I wonder if it’ll ever stick. They’re too young to see it now, but so there are so many lessons about life just from the yard. Maybe that’s why Jesus used it so frequently as a metaphor. It’s beautiful. It’s about life and growing.
My daughter rushes up to me. I can see that her face is filled with emotion. She has a weed in her hand, and I take it from her and thank her.
She’s taken one of her new gloves off and holds her palms out to me, showing me the dirt on it. I shrug my shoulder out to her and she smiles at me, wiping her hand on my shirt. She knows she can always come to Daddy and wipe the dirt off on me.
When God places a dream on our hearts, it’s not something we need to work toward solely on our own effort, but rather it takes time and surrender. In a lot of ways, we need to let the dream die. Surrendering it so that it doesn’t come from our effort but rather from the Lord.
Sometimes you do the right thing, and it doesn’t work out. Sometimes it does. Life isn’t a system of things going on and working out or not working out, but rather life is the journey.
I dream of doing something more than what I’m doing. I dream of teaching the Bible. I dream of living life with people and helping them grow.
Our timing isn’t always the Lord’s. Sometimes he plants the desire, the dream, into our heart and lets it fester. How we wait tells a lot about what is going on inside our hearts. Moses committed murder. He was ready to free Israel by force, if necessary. Imagine the bloodshed if Israel were freed this way? Imagine their identity if Israel had found freedom by violence?
I took time off from writing and doing everything I was trying to do. I let go and sought just the presence of God. I took my writing and my desires and the need to be more, and surrendered it. I let it go because ultimately, I cannot define myself by how many things I write or how much I do, but first and foremost as a child of the living God. A friend of mine smiled when I told him about it and said, “You really love Jesus.”
I’m trying. I’m trying to be a good man and a good father. I know I’m not perfect. I know I have a long journey to go. I know sometimes the timing may never be right. The point of the journey is not the destination. The journey is to draw us near to where God is and to know Him. By bringing us closer to him, we can freely surrender and submit everything that isn’t of Him. We can seek His way, not ours. We can cry out with open hands; I give up everything so that I can know you more.
“I believe,” the desperate father pleaded with Jesus, “Help me to believe more.” I love Jesus, but I pray regularly asking, “Help me to love you more. Help me to be holy. Help me to seek you in all things. Help me not to take things personally when people are short with me. Help me to love the slow driver in front of me. Help me to not resent those who only cause more burden. I love. Help me to love more. I believe. Help me to believe more.”
Sometimes the Lord prunes us back, knowing when it is the proper time for us to grow. He keeps us in His arms. He gives us the dreams, and while we strive to be faithful, the weeds need to be pulled out by the root. The dead leaves clutter our lives and need to be raked and discarded. Growth doesn’t come when we’re smelling gardenias but rather when we’re saturated in manure. And then after everything, as the Lord works to make us humble, we still need to wipe the dirt onto our daddy’s shirt.
Going Deeper
What are the things that weigh you down, like leaves pushing down on the grass, preventing you from growing? How is God using it to change your heart?
What are the root issues in your life that you have to remove in order to fulfill the dream God has placed on your heart?
Who in your life is the fertilizer helping you to grow?
What are the good things of your life do you need to cut back (prune) in order to refocus and grow?
What are the bad things of your life that you need to kill (pesticide)?
Is there any dirt on your hands that you need to wipe on your Daddy God’s shirt?
