Grass Roots

For years my family had this tradition that on your birthday everyone in the family would go around and give you a blessing. So the younger kids would say things like "You're so funny and I love the cakes you make" and the adults would talk about what a blessing you are and how "God is going to use you" in the next year. It was a great tradition. I looked forward to it mainly because my love language is encouragement, but I'm sure there were others that dreaded it, which is probably why we don't do it anymore.

On my thirteenth birthday, I remember that one of my brothers (you know who you are) called me grass. The speech started out with loving compliments, but eventually I found myself listening to my brother tell me why I am the family lawn. In my mind I remember thinking, ".... organic? earthy? what? grass?"  I cried, not because grass isn't awesome but mainly because I am overly sensitive and as a newly thirteen year old I didn't really want to be grass. I wanted to be a rockstar or something. 

Now that I think back, though, I understand what he was saying.

When I think of any good Oklahoman grass I think of thick, lush, dark green, soft to the touch, moist grass. It's the grass you roll around in with your dog and have picnics on at the park, the kind you run through as a child when you play tag with friends, the kind that neighborhood friendships and communities are build on. Grass... it's usually overlooked. You don't think about the beauty of it, or why it's there, rather, you take advantage of it. It's not just to be looked at. Grass is to be played on, to be trampled by happy feet, to create a soft spot to land when you jump out of a tree or trip over your own feet. It's to be used. Without people walking on it and having picnics, there is no need for grass. 

A couple weeks ago we had a team come in and we went to the Ranch (our second property in Zaragoza that I'm basically in love with) and what was our task for the day? To pick grass so we could plant it at the Refuge. We picked the perfect little seedlings out of the field that surrounded us, and pulled the pieces of grass out of the weeds that were masking it.   At the end of the day, we drove back to the Refuge and transplanted our freshly picked grass in a place that it could flourish.  As we planted the grass in the drizzling rain, we knew that this small task, planting sprigs of grass three feet away from each other, isn't something that is just going to look pretty. Rather, it's going to hold the earth together so the rain can't wash it away. The roots are going to spread. The grass is going to take root. The green lush is going to spread over the whole hillside. 

I want our boys to be this grass. Right now, they are surrounded by weeds. But after years of rain and nurturing they will spread, grow, cover their land, and be the roots that hold their community together. I want them to take root in the Lord and grow. I want them to spread to all the nations. I want them to be the ones that build up their community and make it a safer, more beautiful place to live.


They all have gifts and dreams, and I don't want those to go to waste. I want the boys to feel important, to be confident, and know that they are loved and adored. I want them to feel like they have a reason to grow, that there are people who need them. They won't be overlooked anymore, because we are picking them out of the dirt, and pushing aside the weeds, and giving them a place to grow.