[title subtitle=”words and images: Jessica Sowards”][/title]
Dear Readers,
I’d like to tell you a story.
One gray and overcast day around the first of January, I stood in the woods next to my house. My eyes were closed and my arms were raised in praise. Rooster crows carried through the trees on the breeze and the creek was flowing steadily nearby, but my prayers were louder.
My husband Jeremiah and I have a standing date. Most days, around four o’clock in the afternoon, we pull on our rubber boots and however many layers of clothes the weather calls for. We head out the front door and make our way around this little farm, assessing coops and fences, handling our animals, and treating those that need something special. We gather eggs and we talk about the day-to-day tasks required in this life. It is my absolute favorite kind of date, the only kind of romance I ever wished for. But on that January day, we weren’t just making a regular round. That afternoon, we slipped through the gate to the undeveloped part of our land. We took a green composition book and a hundred-foot measuring tape.
We talked about big plans that day. They were plans we couldn’t do on our own. Plans we didn’t have the money, manpower or expertise for. To be honest, it felt largely overwhelming. I felt like a child with a slingshot facing a giant. After two hours of walking our woods and measuring, scribbling, discussing, and brainstorming, Jeremiah went to tend to chores. I stayed there in the woods and did the only thing I know to do when life feels giant, I told God, “This is too big for me, but I know You are enough. We need help.”
He heard me. As my prayers grew and I raised my hands, the sun split through the overcast, gray sky for the first time that day and I felt warmth wash over me. It was one of those things that seem inconsequential in the re-telling but was a balm to my spirit in that moment. It was one of those instances where I knew I had been heard.
As the sun shone on me, I was reminded of a text I’d received the night before from my friend Tara. “Hey, sis,” she’d said, “Just wanted to remind you of Ephesians 3:20. Love you!” It was a random little message that meant something big. That’s the scripture I’d held on to when we got our house. It reads, “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” When we found our place, a mess of a foreclosure with four acres, I reminded myself of this over and over. God knew my heart. He knew how badly I’d wanted a farm. He hears what I ask and knows the desires of my heart.
Suddenly it hit me: if God will surpass what I imagine, planning days should be anything but overwhelming. I should be excited to venture to the undeveloped places and imagine all the wonderful things that will come from them. Then I should be willing to watch and see Him surpass my expectations. I remembered what this property looked like when we first took hold of it, and I admired the great strides we have made in the two years since.
It was hugely emboldening. In the following weeks, all the things that felt impossible in the woods that day started to become more and more obtainable. Help came. My neighbor Lisa and I began to brainstorm, and along with our husbands, decided we would get much more done if we joined forces. So we all got together one evening and with our new bold-dreamer status, we dreamed big, just like children of God should.
We started with the garden. One morning, she and I took our collections of organic, heirloom seeds and spread them out together on my kitchen table. We made lists and sketched out ideas. We placed an order for seeds of purple peppers, sweet melons, and black tomatoes, filling the holes of our expansive collections. We decided that day we would plant at least an acre. It was a thrillingly huge dream.
Next came the farmers’ market booth. We knew that with the garden and all the animals, we would be producing plenty of products to branch out beyond feeding our own families. We decided to open the booth under the name of our farm, Roots and Refuge. Logos were designed, marketing materials were decided on. We started working on labels.
But we didn’t stop there. We spoke with a contact at a local restaurant that put in a large weekly order for eggs. Then we talked to the local feed stores and found those that would be interested in selling chicks we hatch from our incubator. We ordered chickens to raise for meat. My goats moved to Lisa’s house to take up roles in her herd, and her turkeys and chickens moved to our house to supply our incubator with eggs.
Within a mere six weeks, we went from having two hobby homesteads to having one working entity. We were able to use our strengths to each other’s advantage. And in that, I went from desperately crying out to God in the woods to solidly standing on a plan, His plan.
Just like any other conceived thing, we have had to wait for the proper season for it to be birthed. Now it’s here: March.
The seedling plants in the greenhouse are unfurling leaves and stretching out towards the sun. The goats have given birth and their precious kids are frolicking around, making the world a brighter place to be. The garden is tilled. Sugar pea vines are growing up the trellis, indifferent to the frost. The chickens have started to lay again, and within the next few days, the incubator will begin turning out the first of hundreds of chicks we will hatch this season. The farm is waking up, and I’ve never been so excited about spring.
It truly feels surreal sometimes. Occasionally, when I am elbow-deep in a farm task, I just pause a moment and breathe it in. And it hits me. None of it would have happened without a prayer and a dream. He provided the way, taught us to work hard and when the time was right and our hearts were ready, He brought along the partnership to see it through.
I can’t help but think about what might have been. What if we had taken one look at the unlikeliness of success and said, “We don’t know enough. We don’t have enough. We are not enough.” All along the way, there has been great pressure to throw up our hands.
So we do, but not in defeat. We throw up our hands in praise. In the woods, in the living room, in the yard with the chickens. We throw them up and say, “You are enough! Help me!” And He does. Every time.
I want you to know, God is not intimidated by your dreams. They are, however, like seeds. A seed that is put in the ground but not given water and light will never grow. It is just a buried seed, hidden and left to die. But a seed that is planted, placed in the dirt and cared for with the intent of growing does just that. It grows. It blossoms. It bears fruit.
Throw up your hands, but never in defeat. Praise through the winter seasons, through the overwhelming moments, through the times when, from your vantage point, your dream looks impossible. Then stand in awe during the birthing season and dance with joy during harvest time.
My prayer for you today is this: that you will not be afraid to imagine, to ask and to dream. He is a good Father, and I am living proof: me, with my long-buried desire for a farm. It’s not a buried seed anymore. It’s a plant that is feeding not just my family but others as well.
I pray this might be water on the seeds in your heart. I pray that you read this and lift your hands in the undeveloped places of your life. He is enough.
I’ll keep praying. He’ll keep watering.
You keep praising.
Happy growing season, friends.
It’s going to be a fruitful one.
With Love,
Jess
To see the progress on Jessica’s homestead, follow her on Instagram @roots_and_refuge.
