“I need a tomato stake,” I said to Mom as I surveyed the garden.
Tomato plants were outgrowing their ties and growing beyond their stakes. I managed to secure all but one of the plants. The stake beside it was too short.
I needed a taller stake.
Into all of Dad’s little cubby holes and corners, I poked and prodded, turning up nothing I could use as a tomato stake. Everything was too short.
“God, if there’s a tomato stake around here somewhere, it sure would be nice if you showed me where,” I whispered.
Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed. Wind danced in the tree tops. Rain began to fall.
We headed indoors to wait out the storm and watch Dr. Phil.
Rain beat against the house and the wind howled. Mom expressed concern about the big tree in the neighbor’s yard. I assured her it was still standing. We’d heard no crash…and her house was still standing.
The storm blew over about the same time Dr. Phil signed off. I ducked out the back door to survey the damage.
Limbs were down in Mom’s back yard. Thankfully, they weren’t huge ones.
As I worked to remove the limbs, I pulled them away from the fence, off of the table they had fallen onto. out into the yard where I could maneuver them out the gate, and out to the street for pickup.
When the last limb lay by the street, I grabbed a bucket and headed back up to the fence to clean up the glass (the table top that the limbs crashed onto was glass) that lay scattered on the ground.
As I picked up the final piece of glass and tossed it into the bucket, I noticed something leaning against the fence, half hidden by the hedge…apparently dislodged when the limbs fell.
It was a tall wooden stake – a tomato stake over 6 ft tall.
I grabbed the stake, took up a hammer and headed to the garden where I pounded it into the soft ground. It was the perfect height and sturdy enough to support not one, but two tomato plants.
After the storm passed, I had grumbled about the clean up that lay before me. I didn’t expect the blessing and answered prayer that lay hidden beneath the damage.
God is faithful even when I grumble.