Seed Commitment.

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I’ve been slowly bringing seeds to Africa for just over a year now. I’ve been stock-piling, preparing, and mostly looking toward the great potential that awaits us. They are incredible seeds that can’t be found here, at least not easily. They are mostly heirlooms, including some unusual varieties. I brought with me seeds from all over the world: Guatemala, India, Thailand, France, Italy, Mexico, America and beyond. For the most part, they are seeds that will hopefully survive and thrive in a tropical environment, but some of our plantings will be purely experimental. Some seeds were purchased from specialty seed companies in the United States. Others were gifted to me by farmers, friends and family. I have several goals with these seeds, the most important being to MULTIPLY that which we’ve started with. My old farmer friend, Wild Bill, once told me, “If you don’t multiply, eventually you’ll die.”

Wild Bill comes from a time and place when, in order for your family to survive, you had to know how to raise your own food. If the cows or chickens or goats got eaten up or died before they had calves or chicks, well…eventually you were left with a whole lot of nothing. The same was true for the vegetable seeds. Neglect to save seeds and you’d be empty handed when it came time to plant the next season. These days, especially in the developed world, we don’t need to multiply anything except hopefully the numbers in our bank accounts. Or so we think.

In some ways, Africa is as old as time itself. Definitely older and, in a lot of ways, less sophisticated than even Wild Bill’s earlier twentieth century American experiences. In rural (and even urban) Uganda, the old ways of doing things still hold true when it comes to surviving in an economy that’s been left shattered by so much corruption, war and disease. Mix these ingredients with over-population and a serious lack of resources, education and social services and, in a very real way, you’ve got an empty-handed mess on your hands.

And so, these seeds aren’t just seeds. They are the potential for life, health, and income. They are food for a lot of people I know and love. Some of whom are dangerously close to a precipice of, literally, starving to death. These seeds aren’t hybrid or GMO. Their ability to multiply isn’t reliant on whether or not a person has the money or ability to buy more from a company whose greed has found a way to control one of the earth’s most precious gifts. In a sea of monocrops, the seeds I’ve carried with me to Africa hold a millennium of diversity.

These seeds play a role in the bigger picture of our survival as a planet, but even more specific to my role in this new journey is that they are the tiny pod-shaped coins that will hopefully make a difference in the lives of people whose names I know and whose children I love. To me, this is personal.

A little over a week ago, we planted our first seeds. It was a deep act of faith. There have been a lot of uncertainties in so many aspects of this work and especially in building a new life here in Uganda. The potential impermanence of it all has, at times, been staggering. One day I realized that God was giving me the opportunity to decide for myself what I want. Did I want to stay and invest myself in this particular property and at this time? He told me that, if I wanted to remain, I had to show Him by planting those precious seeds. Admittedly, I had been holding off. I was afraid that if I planted the seeds, something might go wrong and I wouldn’t see them grow into maturity. If that happened, all that seed collecting, dreaming and planning would somehow become a huge loss. There were a lot of reasons to hold off on planting. And yet, in God’s straightforward invitation to decide for myself, I knew with my whole being that my future was being decided by this one small act of faith. Of course, God knew all along what I would choose. But for the first time since Carl died, I felt myself making a decision from my own personal preference. It was a powerful moment. The sky became brighter when I realized from this new vantage point that what I wanted and what God was doing, were one in the same thing. A seamless, brilliant match. When I surrendered my life to God, I did so fully, completely. And now, here I was standing at the edge of a future in which God was giving me my freedom in the deepest possible ways.

I planted those seeds. And when I did so, I planted my faith firmly in a future that God Himself planned for me before I was even born. Perhaps a million times over, grief will be turned into life. May life be multiplied. May despair be continuously turned into joy. The day I made the decision to plant those seeds is the day that God gave me a freedom like I have never before known. It’s funny how the decision to root myself to this place is exactly the thing that has given me wings.

Thank you, Abba, for letting me find my way by first setting me free. You know my heart. Since the beginning of time…you’ve known. You’ve always, always known.

And there shall be blessings. Letting images tell their own story.

“Then God said, ‘I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food.'” ~Genesis 1:29

 

The Parable of the Sower
“He replied, “The knowledge of the mysteries of the kingdom of God has been given to you, but to others I speak in parables, so that, ‘Though seeing, they may not see; though hearing, they may not understand.’ Now this is the meaning of the parable: The seed is the word of God.” ~Luke 8:11

“A seed is a doorway between the life of the old plant and its gift to the new plant. Our teachers are the plants. They teach us that we have to be able to sacrifice something of ourselves in order to give something to the next generation.”

*Photos from our most recent seed saving, planting and propagation workshop in the mountains of Eastern Uganda. There is no greater Joy.  My heart: http://www.theJOYcollective.org

Things found.


God works in mysterious ways. Once upon a time, perhaps 10 years ago, I left my beloved garden in the country and moved to the middle of the city. I was just finishing a master’s degree while simultaneously starting up an art business. I was obsessive and driven in my hard work, but there was a quiet side of myself that it seems was whispering prayers into a future I could have never planned for. In a little more than a month, I will finally be living in Uganda where I’ll be building, growing and living amidst model gardens. A garden that will provide my little family and our community with a whole lot of nourishment, education and encouragement. All because I was forced to walk in the footsteps of a widow…I’ve been delivered to so much more. And a quiet dream that I had all but given up on is being fulfilled in more meaningful ways than I could have ever anticipated. I love you, Abba. Thank you for taking care of me the way you do.

What has God been teaching you most?

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A dear friend sent me a message asking this question…

What has God been teaching you most?

Our friendship has never been shallow and I like that about her. It’s been two weeks and I’ve yet to respond because I can’t seem to come to any easy answer. I hope she understands the gift in this delay. At least…there has been a gift in it for me. I don’t mean to be selfish in holding back in the timing of my response, but you see…this question keeps rolling around in my mind and heart. As if tasting something for the first time. Something that holds complexity and richness. Something that tastes interesting and leaves you wanting more so that you might figure out what its made of. You roll its flavors over the surface of your tongue trying to taste and make sense of more of it more fully.

In my imagination, I am sitting on the mountain’s edge, at the home of one of the widows I work with, a slope of land covered in growing things. Look to the photo above. What you can’t see is that behind me and a bit to the left is the grave of Aidah’s husband. He died in a vehicle accident. Aidah and I are the same age. We lost both of our beloveds in a similar way and have been widowed for about the same length of time. In my imagination Aidah is sitting next to me. Both of us quietly considering the bigger picture, listening for what God has to say.

I like imagining Aidah sitting next to me because it’s tiring to always feel so alone. But surely God wants me to write something more uplifting than this? I wear weakness like skin and am almost always hurting. I imagine that Aidah is made of something stronger than me. Perhaps she thinks the opposite. I keep remembering the tiny tomato seedlings she had growing in a row along side a patch of newly sprouted cabbage plants awaiting the rains so that they could be transplanted. The tomatoes were spaced as evenly as my steps of which I was only a quarter of an inch from tromping them all until they were pointed out to me. I was horrified by how oblivious I had been of their presence. To me, tomato plants hold a special kind of promise. I’m not sure why.  Perhaps it is because I know that, when eaten, they fortify our blood and make us stronger. Perhaps it is because I’ve seen their potential for plentitude. On the side of that mountain, their small and sturdy leaves were made of a green that I found admirable. Rigorous and certain. But their stems, although healthy, were also immensely fragile. And isn’t that true of all of us?

Luckily, those little tomato plants survived my heavy footed, oblivious steps and I became at least a little more observant because of it. Aidah continued to show me her hard work and I began to see a pattern of immense planning and foresight in her endeavors. I saw possibility and faith in her newly dug garden plots. Things weren’t just growing, they were expanding upwards and outwards also. Her sloping plot of land was being turned into something much, much more than the three sack gardens we had started her out with in the months before.

Although I wish that I could be seated next to Aidah right now, I am instead sitting in solitude in my sister’s kitchen. An early morning thunderstorm has now turned into our first blizzard of the season. These days, one of the things I’m learning is patience in God’s timing…but also His patience in me.

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Photo credit: Safi Kitsao

This morning my friend, Safi, sent me a photo of an avocado tree that he planted earlier today. I met Safi last month, when both of us attended a PDC course in Kenya. Safi amazes me. He’s seventeen years old with a smile made of pure gold and resiliency. His brightness of mind and spirit is magnetic and, although often quiet, he is simply impossible to ignore. It doesn’t feel fair or polite to talk about another person’s burdens, but I will say that I like the way he planted this tree. I imagine he added compost at the roots, just like we learned to do in our permaculture course. I like the way he added mulch on top and even left a small depression of soil to better soak up water. The leaves are vibrant and strong. Even so, they need protection. Branches and brush. To me, this photo reads like a prayer.

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness…because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.” ~Romans 8:26-27

God has been teaching me most about surrender and faith, humility, trust and patience. More than anything, God has been teaching me about the protection found in Him and that, when it comes down to it, He will use even this, this and, yes, even this. He’s been teaching me that when He answers one prayer, He often answers many. We are a complex web of cries that beg for some sign of hope and comfort and, as I stand within that web, I never imagined the need for so much protection. I’ve stepped somewhere deep. The ground is fertile with God’s love and the devil knows it. I feel the tension, even as I write these words. But God can’t and won’t be compromised. I lean into that promise knowing with my whole being that things are growing in the right direction. Upwards, towards Him and Him alone.

 

Where in the world is Jessie?

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At the moment I am sitting crosslegged on the floor at my old wooden coffee table. This is where the good stuff happens. I have a cup of tea to my left and my bible to my right. On the rug next to me is Carl’s dog (and my eternal sidekick), Henry. These days his fur is shaggy and slightly unkept. He lays with his back pressed against my leg, slowly falling asleep as he listens to music. Ella, my other dog, rests with her head on a pillow on the couch behind me.

Although I have done a fine job of unintentionally confusing the majority of people in my life with my whereabouts, I am indeed here. It’s a quiet Sunday evening in the autumn colored woods of Northern Minnesota. I’ve moved out of my “tiny house” cabin and into my original lake studio, but only briefly. I don’t have running water, but I do have high speed internet. The view is gorgeous and so, therefore, all is well. Admittedly, my brief return to the States has been extended by circumstances of passport visas, commissioned paintings and final moving preparations. It’s been all-consuming, but quickly enough it is, indeed, coming together.

There are times in life when patience is required. This is not one of those times. As a matter of fact, I don’t feel like I am waiting on the Lord for any aspect of this move. Instead, it seems He is waiting on me! I feel God whispering with the sort of calm encouragement that only God can possess: “Hurry, hurry my dear…it’s ready for you as soon as you are.”

As I write this now, it seems silly that I’ve allowed myself to experience so much self-created anxiety over everything. Even so, I’ll cut myself some slack because, let’s face it, this life change (giving up everything, moving to Africa) does feel like a big deal. I’m being catapulted into the Whatsnext whether I’m ready or not!

I recently learned that the original Hebrew root of “be still” doesn’t mean “be quiet”; it means “LET GO.”

LET GO
and know that I am God.   ~Psalm 46:10

Since Carl died, I’ve been living my life in an ultimate sort of surrender. I’ve been learning how to be led by a current that is both watery and electrical. It is made of faith. Like water, it simply knows the way. It is calm and knowing. Like electricity, this current is energized. Alive.

I didn’t mean to write all this tho. I was simply going to tell you where I am and what my plans are. I laugh, even as I write those words. The Great Whateverafter awaits.

Yesterday, the Whatsnext involved purchasing a plane ticket to KENYA.
I leave in less than two weeks!!

Wha? Come again?

  • Bemidji (+ multiple quick and last minute trips to Minneapolis): now-October 14th
  • Kenya (October 14th -31st): PDC Training
  • Bemidji (+ multiple quick and last minute trips to Minneapolis): November 1st-?
  • Uganda (MOVING indefinitely, with dogs!!): mid to late November

When all is said and done, I will arrive in Uganda a little later than I had originally “planned.” Am I ok with this? Absolutely!

God’s plan is perfect and things are falling into place in some pretty amazing ways.

And so? I’ll be in Kenya for two weeks for an intensive 72 hour certification course in Permaculture Design (PDC). Let me just mention that NEVER in a million years would I have ever imagined my life going in this direction.

I am happy. I’m doing this for the widows that I’m working with in Eastern Uganda. I’m doing this so that I might be a learner as well as a teacher, because it’s a thread that’s meant to be added to the master weaving. I’m doing this because I know God wants me to. It’s a seed that He wants planted in the soil of my heart so that I might share it with others too, a seed that wants to grow…into something entirely unique and new.

This is what I’m going to learn:

• Approaches to design including: mapping, designing from patterns to details, analysis of elements, using slope & orientation, zones and sectors and analysing the needs & yields of systems.

• How to increase productivity using intensive garden design strategies including: stacking, soil-building, soil biology, mulch, nutrient cycling, pest control, green manures, worms, compost & companion planting.

• How to survey landscapes for property design using simple and sophisticated tools; mapping and map making, site analysis, and assessment.

• Climate: how to read weather patterns, create and enhance micro-climates, and create design strategies for all major global climatic zones.

• How trees and forests regulate and moderate ecosystems. How to sustainably use, propagate, harvest and manage tree systems using techniques such as coppicing, pollarding, grafting, shelter belts, orchards, guild planting & succession planning.

• Sound nursery practice, propagation, and bio-security.

• Integrated pest management.

• Homesteading and small scale farming.

• How to save money on energy bills with efficient home design, retrofitting, and renewable energy systems.

• Multiple uses for grey-water, constructed wetland design, and other techniques for treating waste water.

• Passive water hydration and infiltration, rainwater collection, storage and composting toilets.

• Dry-land strategies: using reconstructive earthworks, water harvesting and soil conditioning to recharge ground water, re-hydrate and drought-proof the landscape.

• How to bring fertility back to the land and build topsoil through a diversity of ancient and modern techniques.

• How to cycle nutrients and incorporate animals into your system using innovative techniques such as chicken tractors, pannage systems, dairy systems and beekeeping.

• Creating living ecosystems that feed and nurture us and future generations. Design through the use of nature’s rules to create a lush and resilient natural environment.

• Aquaponic systems; the combination of aquaculture (growing fish) and hydroponics (growing food without soil). Aquaculture systems and their use in Africa as well as global aquaculture.

• How to design solar-heated and solar-cooled buildings. The use of natural building materials, energy efficient house placement and design and the assurance of a healthy indoor environment.

• Strategies for creating community-wide sustainability, village development, alternative economies, local currencies, and how to organise community groups.

God has opened a new door in my life. It is a strange door. It leads to a mountain. It leads to a group of twelve women in rural, eastern Uganda. It leads to a group of kids who I love as tho they were my own. It leads to a new home on the flip side of the planet. It leads to a call on my life that I just can’t seem to shake, shimmy or live without.

This door. In the deepest places of my heart, I feel it leading somewhere good.

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Image Credit: Barefoot Soulutions 

I’ll write another post about this upcoming trip to Kenya and more about permaculture in general. But for now, I just wanted to at least share this.

The work continues. The Joy Collective is in full motion. The closing up of my old life and the details of everything to come is a current work in progress. This quickening that’s been occurring let’s me know that I am, indeed, on the right track.

I love you, Abba. Thank you for using me in this direction. I’m yours. Every
last
bit.

 

Anna.

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I want to introduce you to someone. Her name is Anna. I feel like I talk about her all the time. Sometimes tho, I think I’m mostly talking about her to myself, in my heart and in my head. Anna is phenomenal. She is the reason that The Joy Collective was even started. She is the one who God first led me to. She’s a widow and that level of loss is something we, unfortunately, share in common.

And yet.

(And yet. I love those two words. They contain entire worlds of possibilities.)

Anna has become a beacon of hope to me. Maybe I’m something of the same to her. I don’t pretend to know that is true, but I do believe in the way God pairs us with people. I do believe the light I see in her smile and in her eyes whenever we are reunited. I believe it because seeing her always causes the same light to radiate from me.  I believe in the way God loves us so deeply, so uniquely that, in answering one prayer, he often answers a thousand. He connects us in ways that are too simple and simultaneously too complex for us to even fathom.

Less than a year ago Anna was almost too broken to work after the devastating and traumatic loss of her husband. I was only about 6 months ahead of her in experiencing that same sort of loss. By the time I met Anna, I had taken a “first step” out of my grief and into Africa. I was feeling a sense of happiness for the first time since my beloved’s passing. But I was still just at the precarious outer edges of of that happiness. My sight, at times, had a sparkling quality to it. A diamond, shimmering sort of light that somehow promised something good to come out of that heavy mountain of loss. This new feeling touched everything, even my soul. It felt delicate, ice thin. But I walked towards it anyway. Then there was this simple invitation to sit with another widow who was struggling. The mountain somehow folding us together and, without hesitation, I said: Yes.

When it was finally time to return home, I spent the eight hour flight from Entebbe to Amsterdam in a conversation with God, asking him, “Ok God, so now that I know what you want me to do, next I need you to tell me HOW!” I laugh as I write that. It seems like such an obvious question, but it’s also one that I must never quit asking. Although my sight was sparkly in those first days, there is also the awareness that I’ve stepped into some awfully deep waters. A place where I am quite certain I will get dragged into the undertows of an ugly dark current if I do not constantly plug into God’s plan.

One hour with a woman I hadn’t previously known, without even a common language. And yet…

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Yeah…I do believe this photo says it all. My Anna. And I am her Jessie.

I have returned to Uganda twice since that first trip. We have come SO FAR. One of the most important reasons for my visit was to check on the widows we are working with and the progress of their gardens. I was fully expecting to find at least some level of failure. Not because of them…but because there had been difficulties and challenges, as there often are in Africa. Let’s just say that I was SHOCKED when this is what I saw upon coming into the village.

I saw ABUNDANCE, RESILIENCE, DEDICATION. Anna, the woman I had met less than a year ago took her newfound knowledge and variety of seeds that we had gifted her with and completely reinvented her life. Together, we’ve taken death and are turning it into life. Just as Jesus did for us. I visited the homes of widow after widow, all of our Joy Collective members, and was amazed by the tenacity of our circle of women.

Anna has been hired on as our first Joy Collective Field Manager. It shouldn’t surprise me that she has such natural leadership skills and a profound gift for gardening. It is no mistake that God led me to this woman. I love the way it feels to not be needed on a constant basis in the village–of course, I love being there(!)–but I also love seeing these women take the initiative to create success by their own efforts. As Field Manager, Anna will check in on our members to see how things are going. What is working well? What are the challenges? How can we come up with solutions? Do any members need help due to sickness? Did a member discover something helpful to teach the others? Since most of our widows do not have phones, Anna is also our point of connection in the village. Each one of our members is such a beautiful and vital piece of the puzzle. It has been amazing to watch this program grow in such a short amount of time. And Anna…she is living proof of what is possible.

We’re doing this together. This thing called living. We’ve been given a handful of seeds from the broken pieces and, you know…it pulls me forward…this curiosity to see what might grow.

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I don’t want this blog to become a place to ask for money, but the truth is that we can’t do it alone. We need your help to get this dream off the ground. Please consider making an investment in us. I do believe that it will inspire you a million times over! Donate here.
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Saturated.

At 3am I get out of bed and begin writing. One dog is snoring. There is a cup of strong black coffee to my left. After a long flight and a mid-night arrival home just yesterday, I feel rested. Very rested. I don’t feel jet-lagged in the usual sense, but apparently my heart and body still think I’m in Africa. I’m ok with that. I’m going to continue pretending that is so as long as possible. I accomplished a vast amount in the past month and I want to continue bringing out the goodness I’m finding in those accomplishments. It feels like a flower, unfurling. I don’t want to stunt this great revealing of what is to come. I attempt to get out of my own way and let the energy of this project and life-building take on its own rhythms. I’ve begun to see the world in terms of growing things. In vivid detail, we too are among this ongoing, miraculous cultivation of being. Being. Yes, I like that term. It includes a lot.

At 4am I chef up a delicious stir-fry. Purple cabbage, broccoli, mushrooms, spring onions and dark greens. I’m obsessing over an idea that came to me yesterday: a beautiful way of treating our guests that might also transfer over into all we do locally, too. I’m excited about the way things are going, in directions that I would have never previously imagined or created on my own. I feel this story being orchestrated by God. I like it that way. He’s a much more talented artist and author than me. I like the way His mind thinks. I like the way His heart feels. I like the way His eyes see things. I also like the way He surprises me. He saturates me in colors and visions that are too beautiful to contain. It’s the overabundance of  sight that forces me to live it out loud. Sometimes putting things into motion before I fully understand where it’s all leading. He’s never led me astray. There is a certain knowing and I give myself to it completely.

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The bougainvillea tree bursts with color in The Joy Collective’s gardens. Home Sweet Home. Africa, I love you.