Apparently, this is what gardens look like when you’re away for the better part of the month. I tried to walk in it yesterday, but the vines are relentless. I did manage to cut enough zinnias to fill a large pitcher with fresh cut flowers. And, to my surprise I found quite a few ripe grape tomatoes hidden in the tall grass. And the more I looked the more I could see, a cucumber here and there.

And of course, I look up and here is the zucchini – the one plant that I cannot seem to grow without the tiny borers that laugh at me every July. One day there is a large healthy plant, and the next the whole thing wilts and dies. But here, in this mess of weeds and vines, they seem to be doing just fine. A whole container full of large zucchinis mock me on the counter.

I tiptoe in to where there is supposed to be a walkway lined with shredded wood – but the brush has overtaken it. I brush away a coarse vine that scratches my leg. And then I see them, the tiny, yellow pumpkins. They are as big as my hand – fully grown and perfectly shaped. My eyes trace the vine underneath the brush and there is another. And another. I remember buying the seeds back in May, when I had hopes of abundance and a large harvest.

But this summer didn’t turn out as expected. What does one expect really on this side of Eden? An abundant harvest? What if the harvest is hidden amongst weeds and vines choking the life out of plants?

I wonder how often I expect life to be a garden with no weeds. How often I expect the harvest to come easy and abundance to pour out with a double helping. But life has a way of rearranging our ways and weeds make it hard to thrive. Choking vines make abundance fade into sweat and tears.

I know people like that. People whose lives are gardens full of weeds – weeds they did not plant. Pushing through with all they have. Through the chronic pain and health challenges that require relentless care. Through the loss, betrayal, and battles they fight, at times quietly. Through circumstances that make it hard to see the path through. And yet. They persevere. Holding on to the promises that provide just enough water for the day. Bending and stretching toward the reality that is their life – not much of it is what they expected.

Some people hold on to the promises without ever seeing the harvest. Joseph has been on my mind. I wonder what it must have been like to surrender to a life that you knew full well could be misunderstood? Saying yes to taking an already pregnant woman to be yours, in a community where most would assume it was his own doing. Knowing there might be whispers that might follow you forever. And years later, that same hometown would struggle to believe who Jesus was. Joseph protects Mary. He protects Jesus. He obeys God. And then, he disappears. An entire life tending to something whose ultimate fruitfulness he would never see. A lifetime of pushing against. A lifetime of surrender.

Perhaps my measure of abundance is all wrong. Because I want fruit that I can see. Touch. Measure. But there is more to bearing fruit than what can be measured on this side of heaven. Perhaps bearing fruit has less to do with the condition of the garden than I thought. Perhaps it has more to do with staying connected to the Vine. It may be that the soil we are given is full of weeds. Coarse, prickling weeds relentlessly choking life out.

And sometimes, all we can do is just hang on. This. This we can do. Hold on to the true Vine.

Perhaps Joseph never saw the fruit of his life. We don’t even have one word of his recorded. And he may have even thought his fruit was small. If he did think so then, I bet he has changed his mind now.

A garden can look abandoned and still be producing. A life can look difficult, unfinished, or barren and still be fruitful. It turns out abundance cannot always be measured in real time.