Rocking back on my heels, I knelt beside the flowerbed under the front window of my little house and stared up at the azure sky arcing overhead. Silently I marveled how such beauty could belie the reality of the hot-as-Hades day. With my forearm I swiped at the beads of moisture that were quickly becoming rivulets streaming into my eyes. Briefly I wondered if later looking in the mirror I’d discover a stipe of black dirt left behind as a souvenir of that swipe (Yes.).
I sighed and turned my attention back to the seemingly endless supply of weeds choking the purposely-planted shrubs in what had once been a lovingly and neatly tended border. With a sense of inevitability, I leaned forward and again started ripping out those stubborn interlopers by their aggressively gripping roots. One after another, methodically I removed the invaders and tossed them into the gaping mouth of the waiting black garbage bag.
One thing about yard work, it takes no focus whatsoever; so, I let my mind wander freely: Was it time to get my own (hair) roots done (Probably.)? Would anyone notice if I suddenly became a brunette (Yes.)? I hate getting my hair done; should I shave it all off (Uhhm, no.)?
Then, as often wont to do, my mind meandered in a more, well, substantial direction. (And you thought you were going to read about my hair.) Now, stay with me here. Flowerbeds are similar to our hearts in that what we plant only grows if we make sure it gets the sustenance it needs. If we leave our little plots untended maybe things we never expected, definitely never wanted, begin to encroach; weeds, those nasty little desperados, begin to destroy what we deliberately, lovingly sowed. Maybe it’s our deepest relationships that get blotted out by the thorny thistles that crept into place, or maybe it’s our self-esteem, perhaps it’s our walk with God, but whatever it is in our inner-most being, it needs to be cherished and tended.
In my life, I’m most likely to let weeds strangle the hard-learned truths I’ve discovered about myself. Unfortunately, I’m willing to let the harsh, cold, nasty things others say (or I let myself believe they think) supplant those truths I should know absolutely by now (but don’t). Once those truths have been beaten down, it takes months or even years to see them flower again.
Maybe you don’t struggle with any of this. Maybe your gardens are tended perfectly, and you think I have completely lost it. Maybe you’re thinking, weeds – what is she talking about? If you can’t relate, I’m glad for you, but if you can relate, then let’s agree to get out the Roundup soak those weeds. (Well, not me; I’m going to have to do it the hard way – Roundup gives me a migraine. You probably already know this, but I pretty much do everything the hard way.) But, please, you use the Roundup. Let’s get rid of those weeds and tend to and cherish what needs to be cherished.
The Unexpected Life 