First attempt

THIS WAS MY FIRST OF TWO ATTEMPTS AT STARTING TO WRITE THIS SPRING. I REALLY DID TRY TO OBEY A COUPLE OF TIMES. HOW CLEARLY I REMEMBER THAT DAY...

April 6, 2010 (Tuesday)

Two hours of weeding. It has been a wet California winter, thankfully. After 3 years of drought the rain has been very welcome. The weeds seem to have been especially happy for the rain. Some of them waist high AND waist (not my waist, thankfully) wide.

I start out energetically—sweeping, pruning a couple of branches. Feels great! Beautiful blue skies, fresh air…ahhhh. I look down the rock path of the infrequently used side of the house—oh dear. But it’s only 11 a.m., the skies are still a beautiful blue and the air is still fresh. Get the yard waste bin, gloves, any my sturdy trowel. Collecting fallen branches and a few of the weeds in the farther corners doesn’t seem too challenging and the weeds, roots and all, come out easily. OK: time to start on the path. Many years ago, we pulled out lots more weeds, cleared a path back here, covered it with plastic sheeting, sand, large jagged, multi-hued stepping stones. In between we scattered tiny rocks—it was so attractive, and it looked so low-maintenance!

What happened? Falling leaves became dirt, a cozy bed for…weeds. We used to have a gardener, we could afford one then, but gradually I found I had to follow behind him (after he left, of course) after he did his “mow and blow” to complete the work he perhaps didn’t see had to be done. Like weeding. I did ask him not to use Round-up, which was what he knew. The day he pulled out the asparagus I had planted almost was the last straw, but I didn’t really have time to do the yard work then. So I kept trying to remind him now and then about the unfinished work. That lasted for a little while until things slipped again.

Hard physical labor is not something that comes easily to me. I like to think of myself as being able to do it, but when I start sweating, I also start getting irritable. And weeding makes for a lot of sweating, especially when the weeds are waist high AND waist wide. I get upset at the fact that weeds can grow between sand, plastic and rocks. I get upset that they THRIVE in tough places. I get upset that the leaves have fallen and accumulated and become dirt for the weeds to thrive in. I get upset that I have to spend time doing this when I could be doing other things I enjoy much more. I get upset that my husband is not here anymore to help, or to teach the children a love of gardening, or to pay for a gardener, to rub my back when I’m sore from bending over after two hours of weeding, or even for me to complain to.

I start down the path on my knees, pull a few weeds, toss them in the bin; a little area looks clear again; I can actually look at the lovely colors of the rocks and not at the sprawling weeds growing over and around and under them. Move down the path a little, pull some more weeds—oh, I see some on the side here, behind the bushes—ok, those come out fairly easily. Not too bad. THEN I look up, and I see the entire path before me, and towards the end are the BIG MAMAS. I know those have deep roots that I will have to do battle with one at a time. Each one might take several minutes to defeat, and even then I might not be able to get the roots out. Oh, how the irritability swells.

The sound of a lawn mower next door distracts me, and just as I am about to get irritable about that, I remember my neighbor shared some concerns with me about one of her little kids who is having a tough time, being a gifted and beautiful middle child sandwiched between gifted and beautiful children. So I’m moved to say a prayer for the little one, instead of praying for the mower to break down. My thoughts move on to a friend I saw yesterday and I remember she is having guests stay with her who are not easy company, and a prayer floats up from my now refocused mind.

As I realize that I am now praying instead of grumbling, I am awe-struck by yet another lesson in what has become for me God’s garden classroom. How interesting that life began in a garden too.

Suddenly everything I’ve been thinking, feeling, doing come sharply into focus as LESSONS!

Weeding! Oh my goodness: the parallels of these stubborn waist high, waist wide plants with my own life are shocking!

Looking at the path before me still left to be completed! Oh my goodness: I have so far to go before I can be all that Jesus is and designed me to be!

My irritability! Oh…my…goodness: How humbling, and how humiliating to have to look at my tendency to laziness and selfishness when things don’t work out the way I want them to.

The roots of some of the weeds come out as smoothly as running a knife over a stick of defrosted butter. It’s almost pleasant. Perhaps there are weeds in my life that come out this way too.

Then there are others that will not come out unless I use a pickaxe, and I am not willing to do that today.

So I dig with my trowel where I can; the stem breaks, and the life fluid of the root oozes a bit, but it is alive and well. So I hack at it with the tip of my trowel, as deep as I can get it—shred the stem as much as I can so even if it tries to grow back, it will take a long time for my…for the weed to grow back.

Did you know some master gardeners classify weeds and grow them in containers so they can teach people how to tell them apart??? Wow, what a lesson that is.

For today, I have been graciously reminded that there is joy and peace in seeking God anywhere, anytime, even when I am fighting against it and not even realizing it.

The parable of the sower—now I understand how things take root in shallow dirt too.

Thank you, God, for so much grace.