The Parable of the Pumpkins

My Mamaw grew pumpkins here when I was a kid.
She'd grow them off the side of the porch,
A twisting of vines along the lattice, across the yard, and under the porch.
Every fall, all the grandkids would come to "take yer pick."
Her grandfather did the same when she too was a child.

Soon after we moved in and took to the land,
My wife and I fought a whole summer to get some to grow.
From the blurry mornings after the last spring frost
To the clear midday of September,
We planted, nursed, prayed, and tried again—
All to have no "picks."

But then in the fall of last year,
Our cat kept getting out
And hiding under the porch.
So I put a store-bought pumpkin by the opening
In the lattice she had found,
And left it there.
And there the bottom rotted.

It's the beginning of September now,
And right where my Mamaw and her grandfather
Once planted pumpkins for the grandkids,
Right where I left that pumpkin to rot,
Sprawls a community of pumpkins and vines—
More goods than you could "take yer pick" from.

This fall,
Once these pumpkins are used up
And given to the grandkids
Who now have kids of their own,
We will put one or two to rot by the porch.
We will try again.
And then, as we do now,
As Mamaw and many before us did,
We will nurture and we will pray.

This is how the Lord works in creation,
And, if you could imagine it,
It is often how the Lord works
In our lives, in our salvation,
In our Churches,
And in our feeble attempts
To heal ourselves from
Some rotten thing.