God doesn't give you the Crown - He gives You Goliath!

I saw a reel today that made me stop and think. Besides this blog, I co-author a garden blog with my brother (and sister-in-law) from Appalachia, and I'm dabbling again with sharing monthly spiritual reflections with SSP Church. Sometimes my focal point gets blurred. Some days, yours truly becomes the star of the show. Other days, the “Real Housewives of the Raised Garden Bed” somehow gets top billing. And on the better days, we give all glory and honor to our Lord & Savior.

Truthfully, some days all three worlds collide into one rambling reflection, and maybe that's okay. Although I still haven’t figured out how I’m going to squeeze gardening into this particular blog entry.

The reel I watched centered on David. It pointed out that when God wanted to make David a king, He didn’t hand him a crown… He handed him, Goliath. Now that’s a different kind of career path.

We love the idea of anointing oils, royal robes, and triumphant music swelling in the background. But Scripture often shows God preparing people through battles instead of banquets. David didn’t wake up one morning with servants fanning him with palm leaves. He got a giant, a sling, and a front-row seat to chaos.

Even after David defeated Goliath, life didn’t suddenly get easier. Saul entered the picture — insecure, jealous, paranoid, and unwilling to share the sandbox or his toys. David went from giant-slayer to dodging spears.

Funny how that works. God seems less interested in our comfort than our formation.

Meanwhile, here I am mourning flattened hostas and demolished mums because the roofers treated my flower beds like they were storming Normandy. In the grand scheme of biblical hardship, it feels a little ridiculous. David faced giants and kings; I’m standing in the yard holding broken stems and muttering under my breath about landscaping etiquette.

Maybe the lesson still applies. Not every Goliath is nine feet tall. Some are discouragement. Some are pride. Some are distractions. Some seasons are when our purpose feels blurry, and we aren’t quite sure whether we’re supposed to be writing about gardening, faith, humor, or ourselves.

Maybe the bigger challenge is learning that God can still work through all of it. After all, gardens themselves are messy places. Things get buried before they grow. Some plants thrive after being cut back. Others don’t survive the season at all. And sometimes the very spots that look ruined today surprise us next spring.

So perhaps there’s the gardening connection after all. David had his giant. I had roofers. Somewhere between the broken mums and the bruised ego, God is probably still trying to grow something worthwhile.

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