The Peninsulas of Washington State

The Lord spoke to me on this Tuesday morning in what is (in the Northwest) unmistakably garden season:

I had the sense that God is doing something in some places in Northwest Washington, particularly on the Peninsulas (Kitsap, Olympic) that's a lot like compost. Yeah, I know: weird, eh? He’s not doing this only on the peninsulas, but these are the areas that he brought to my attention this morning, as I was working in my own garden.

Compost is essentially trash (lawn clippings, table scraps, yard trimmings, farm animal poo) that's buried. Often compost is buried in more compost, but my sense was that this was underground, beneath the surface.

And when compost is buried, worms and bacteria and rot work in the trash, and over time, they turn it into the richest, best, most nourishing soil that a seed can grow in, so rich, in fact, that a good gardener will often have to “cut it” with something safer (regular dirt, peat moss, vermiculite, etc) so that it doesn’t burn the tender young roots of a baby plant.

My sense is that God has been doing this in the Peninsulas of Washington State: taking the trash, the castouts, the human beings that have been discarded, trimmed from more civilized culture, and he’s taken the poo, the worst circumstances, crises, difficulties, trials and hopelessness, and he’s buried them, hidden them. And while, over the years, the tourists come and go, the city folk move to the suburbs to civilize them, God has been working in the buried trash and poo, and he’s been working a miracle.

There’s a richness that’s developed among these discarded people, these who have endured such poo from life. There’s a readiness, a goodness, a nourishing home for the Spirit of God to find a home, and to move among a people.

There are no big, famous fellowships that I know of in Northwest Washington, but there’s a lot of fellowship. And so much of it has been under the surface, hidden from view, but in those unseen places, God has been building some mighty sons and daughters, warriors who haven’t known the temptations of big city churches, and who haven’t fallen prey to the cruel masters of numbers and money.

Look to the peninsulas when you’re looking for revival. Listen to the peninsulas when you’re listening for what God is up to. There’s life sprouting in the compost there, life that will influence and nourish the entire region.