I’ve had roots on my mind, and though I desperately need a trip to the salon for some highlights, I’m not talking about hair.

If you spend any time at all reading the red words in your Bible (those are the ones Jesus said, and I only mention that because, sadly, I didn’t know about the red words until I was in my 30’s) . . . so as I was saying, if you spend any time whatsoever reading the Bible, which clearly I didn’t do my first three decades on earth, you will come across quite a few parables.  Jesus likes parables.  Loves the darn things, in fact.  Jesus thinks it’s fabulous to impart massive amounts of wisdom by telling abstract stories that make perfect sense if you’re an interpreter of all things confusing. 

I’m not a fan.  Of parables, I mean.  I’m a fan of Jesus, but I would prefer he just came right out with it.  Give it to me straight, man, because all this stuff about the birds and fields and workers and camels and bags of gold and . . . I know.  Weird, right?  I think life would be a whole lot easier for me if Jesus had just said, “Here’s the deal.  I want you to go to this church and live in that house and have this job and give X amount to this charity every year and X amount to that organization every year and adopt X amount of children and do this for that person and that for this person and wear a shirt every day that tells people how awesome I am.”  I could totally do that stuff, if I knew Jesus was asking me to.  If I were certain of the decisions God wanted me to make, then making those decisions would be easy.

Of course, God isn’t about making my life easy.  God is about making my life mean something, and that’s an entirely different beast.

One of Jesus’ most famous parables is found in Mark 4.  He’s sitting in a boat by a lake, a crowd is gathered on the shore to listen, and Jesus tells a story.  The story is about seeds.  I know.  Weird, right?  Jesus has this huge audience and he talks about a farmer who goes out to sow his seeds.  I’m thinking the story would probably have more worldwide appeal if it was about the farmer going out to sow his wild oats, but Jesus didn’t tell stories like that.  He talks about seeds instead.   So, this farmer Jesus speaks of is scattering his seeds and they fall in various locations, which makes all the difference in the world as to what happens next.

The seeds that fall along the farmer’s path are quickly eaten by birds.  Okay.  Got it.

The seeds that fall on rocky places where there isn’t much soil spring up quickly, but are soon scorched by the sun because they have no roots.  Yep.  Lived in Atlanta my whole life – totally get the whole scorched by the sun thing. 

Still other seeds fall among thorns, which grow up to choke the plants.  Uh oh. 

At the end of the story, the farmer tosses out his last bit of seed, it lands on good soil, and whaddya know . . .  the plants sprout, grow, and VOILA! produce a big ole’ crop.  Nice.

Now, while Jesus is telling this seed story to the crowd along the water’s edge, I imagine those nutty disciples of his are raising their eyebrows and nodding their heads as though they fully comprehend every word Jesus is saying.  Wouldn’t want to alarm the crowd by allowing bewilderment to appear on their faces, would they?  Later, however, the disciples get real, and they ask Jesus what in the name of John Deere tractors he meant when he was talking about the farmer and his seeds.  And – this is my favorite part - Jesus gives it to them straight.

Jesus says the seeds the famer throws along the path are like people who hear God’s word, but allow Satan to quickly come and take it.  Yikes.

The seeds that land on rocky ground, sprout, and become scorched by the sun are like people who hear and receive God’s word, but only for a short time.   Well, the Bible is long, and it can be tough to focus with the zillions of convenient distractions our world offers on a daily basis.

The seeds that land among thorns are like people who hear and accept God’s word, but let worries and wealth choke it.  DING!  DING!  DING!  Gulp.

And finally, the seeds that land on good soil are like people who hear God’s word, live it out in thought and deed, and share it with others to produce a crop.  HOORAY!!!  (Cue applause.)

Oh, how I want to be a seed in good soil.  I want to grow and multiply and make millions for farmer God. 

Sometimes, I do find myself sitting in good soil.  Sometimes, my roots are firmly nestled in the right things – God, family, friends, home, service, love - and I can feel the nourishment the farmer has provided flowing through me, giving me all I need. 

But sometimes . . . maybe even most of the time . . . I find myself surrounded by thorns, struggling to grow and thrive and be what God intended me to be.  My thorns might be different from your thorns – the things that grab hold of my heart and squeeze it until it hurts might not be the ones that leave you gasping for breath when you should be shouting for joy.  But they are thorns nonetheless, and thorns are sharp.  They cause pain.

In the Message Bible, Jesus says, “The seed cast in the weeds represents those who hear the kingdom news, but are overwhelmed with worries about all the things they have to do and all the things they want to get.  The stress strangles what they heard, and nothing comes of it.”

And the bell dings loudly again.

Yes.  That sounds familiar. 

I hear the news.  I study it and answer questions about it and pray about it and, many times, even share it.  Yet, there are things I have to do.  There are things I want to get.  Too many things – things that will never help me grow.  Things that will never help me thrive.  Things that will never allow me to multiply God’s goodness and love in my life.  Still, I allow those things to wind around me, influencing my choices and activities and conversations.  And instead of flourishing, instead of embracing the good news and all it means, I’m choking on things.

Adam and I went to Highlands, North Carolina a couple weeks ago to celebrate his 40^th birthday.  We went on two hikes, and on both, we saw some of the most magnificent trees growing from places you would never expect a tree could grow.  They grew between rocks, their roots pushing deep down between tight crevices and making it through to the rich dirt below, only to spread forth in every direction.  They grew on the very edge of rushing streams, their roots reaching so forcefully out to each side that they actually appeared to be chiseled muscles, lean and strong from holding a tree upright when moving water threatened to consume it.  They grew on steep mountainsides, their roots visibly stretching for yards above the surface of the ground, gripping whatever they could find. 

The trees were all different and so were their roots – some were thin, some thick, some entwined and twisted, some straight.  Yet they had something in common.  All of the roots reached out.  They were firmly planted in good soil, but they didn’t simply go deeper into that soil for more nourishment.  They reached out.  And it was such a clear picture for me of the roots I want to have. 

Yes, I must make sure my roots are in good soil – they must be planted in God’s word, in the kingdom news, in Jesus.  But I can’t just go deeper and deeper into that soil to feed myself.  I must reach out.  In every direction.  Through the rocks and the weeds and the thorns.  Despite my worries and my wealth and the things I want to do and the things I want to get.  I have to reach out to others, and tell them about my roots, and about my soil, and about my farmer.  Only then will I become what that farmer intended me to be.