As I stepped out into this January 25th mist whose background was a heavy gray curtain, I was nearly startled by the single splash of bright blue. Then there were two, then three! Our resident bluebirds seemed to be making a statement; “looking for spring? See me.” Perched midway up our electric pole guidewire, bird #1 draped in fog, resembled the barrelman of a ship’s crow’s nest.
He soon joined two more atop the garden posts. Singing a song, words left to my imagination, they seemed to be guiding us through the midst of winter’s gloom. Their low pitched warble, certainly not in tune with the gloomy day, may well have been, “keep the faith, watch for it….spring is coming”. Okay, at least to me, those were the phrases being sung this day.
Per avianreportcom, “Indigo bunting, blue grosbeaks, blue jays, and of course, bluebirds don’t have any blue pigment. Their feathers perform the trick of selective light scattering that we see as blue.”… “Depending on the angle and intensity of light hitting these tine bubbles in bluebird feathers, the resulting blue can vary from a dark color to the vivid deep blue we see in ideal light conditions.”
Other factors play into the degree of blue; some being nutrition, molting, and the observer’s angle. This blue is called a ‘structural color’.
It isn’t the scientific explanation that gives me such pleasure. The thrill is their beautiful profile, and the amazing streak of blue in flight; by whatever means the great Creator, Jehovah God, put these thrilling swoops of azure, cerulean or sky blue into my life.
My daughter and I were commenting this morning on the 50 degree change in one week’s time, and I have no doubt these feathered friends were having a similar conversation. It seemed the bluebirds had emerged from a quiet haven, hidden from our recent single digit temperatures, as well as we.
Perhaps we need these few things to keep hope alive in times of dark uncertainty; the right angle, a friend or two with tiny bubbles of encouragement, a song to sing, and ‘selective light scattering’ as we share enlightening words from God. “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Psalms 119:105 NKJV
We are promised, and I believe, that if our angle as we look into life is from the path of following Jesus, we “will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)
I am so very thankful for the blessings of light; bluebirds, the Bible, seasons and sight.
Watching (for another couple months) for spring, Trisha
Technically challenged blogger running test for email followers first. If positive results obtained, will test Facebook shared link. Thank you in advance for any help. Trisha
Enjoying the rain from our kitchen window with my first cup of Portland Blend this morning, my view shifted suddenly from the serene stillness to a lively chase. Already immersed in the beauty of a gentle rain which has been absent from our west Kentucky summer, I was nearly startled by the activity. Not the usual one resident rabbit, but two bunnies emerged from my garden, jumping at each other’s face, then racing around the first crepe myrtle, and continued their dance and chase around the next five crepe myrtles! One would chase the other around the tree, then meeting to begin hopping and prancing, sometimes fist bumping their front paws and then repeat the activity with the next tree. As the leader circled the sixth tree, it disappeared into the soybeans, leaving a bewildered bunny to hop slowly, hesitatingly, back toward the garden shed. I felt a little sorry for the kid, and wondered if they’d ever see each other again.
Life can be a total rabbit chase! I wonder if my maniacal gardening appears to others like the chase I had just watched, around and around and on to the next job in line. We hear of chasing a rabbit down a hole, which again, I’m prone to do, especially if I’m trying to relay some incident. Some notion enters my brain as another is being explained and off I go. And then there’s that great big expanse of a soybean field lying across the lives of our children, friends, work families and so forth. Their paths divert in some direction other than ours and it’s a toss up as to whether they’ll cross again, or lead off in still further mazes. It’s just life.
I hope we jump and fist bump and dance in circles and run our races together for as long as we’re given. Life can be terrific that way; and sad that way.
In my gratitude for the long awaited and much needed rain, I’m also sorry for those who are dealing with too much of it and the rolling rivers. Thankful for the break in temperatures these last couple days, we brace for the coming week of horrid heat. I’m glad I got to see the antics of the rabbits this morning and was reminded to be thankful for our people as well as reminded to stop and play now and then. The chase can be tiring, so remember to rest mentally and emotionally as well as (and probably more importantly than) the physical rests.
“Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” Psalms 46:10 NKJV
Feeling quite pleased with the outcome of a project, I shared my efforts on Facebook. In anticipation of the much needed improvement, I had taken ‘before’ pictures to emphasize just how much our porches needed to be cleaned and sealed. As I was taking the ‘after’ pictures, the question came to mind as to why I felt the need to share this on social media. It wasn’t a benchmark thing, nothing rare or unusual; just a small accomplishment that gave me satisfaction. It’s really funny when you stop to think about it. I made it just fine for over sixty years without this strange activity of publicizing sunsets, sunflowers and sun-dried sheets. Millions of us do it, and frankly, I enjoy the giving and receiving of little snippets of our lives. So don’t misunderstand me; I’m not ‘dissing’ it as the kids used to say. But I did imagine some interesting scenarios in wondering what if there’d been social media and sharing of everyday life a generation and farther, ago. Can you imagine?
When my mother’s elderly aunt threatened her cow with a wheat straw, it made family news and the account of it was handed down through three generations so far, bringing much laughter. Had that been a Facebook video, it may have gotten a few chuckles, and then become buried beneath a deluge of other posts. However, as it had only word of mouth, being heard over and over by people who loved one another, the tale has lived on.
Can you imagine seeing a post of a little burr-headed boy, seven or eight years old, driving a two-ton truck as he stretched to see between the dashboard and the steering wheel? Well there is no photo to post because my husband was alone, trying to hold it between the ditches of a hilly gravel road and keep up with his dad driving something ahead of him. Now, a share like that one might have gained the attention of the law! And judging by the reaction his aunt had when she saw the activity, I’m sure she would’ve liked a route for ranting! But other than the remembrance for the boy, and his aunt, it went unnoticed. Talk about kids growing up too soon! It was the norm back then.
How about those hundreds of quarts or so of green beans your grandma canned? Can you imagine her stopping to take a picture to post? I recall my mother indicating if we stopped to so much as go to the bathroom, we might hinder a jar from sealing.
As my sister pointed out recently, her dozen ears of corn made good eating and conversation, but she remembered the 1,000 (or so it seemed) ears of corn on a sheet under a tree waiting to be ‘worked up’ by our mother and her sister. What they shared was time, togetherness and sticky aprons as they commented on whose knife was sharper. It was hard enough to get willing participants, so I doubt they thought non-players would be interested. Anyway, they were just doing what every other family was doing. The best sharing then was in a large glass bowl about four months later with country ham and biscuits.
Imagine ole’ Bess about to give birth in the barn. The farmer cries out, “hold on, don’t calve just yet, I forgot my phone! The world’s just gotta see this!”
I think the world was so small then for folks, they just couldn’t imagine anything they saw or did as being unusual. They felt like maybe everyone else had or did the same, pretty much. Hydrangeas growing by the house had been transplanted all over the county so everyone had one; they all had seen a thousand too many baby chicks; and nobody wanted their picture made on hog killing day! They got together on Sunday afternoon, shared their stories, and made memories enough for years. But as the world has expanded, allowing us to be a part of a much larger community, we know there are people special to us who will never see us in our “natural habitat” nor will we see them in person encountering special moments. I’m thinking of the vacation posts by others, places I’ll never see, so experiencing it through your eyes is the next best thing! Sharing is good that way. Too, we have more time on our hands with modern conveniences and life IS more varied and exciting, maybe… and yet I can’t begin to imagine what a star studded night over Kentucky looked like without the outdoor lights interfering. I can’t imagine how a family of ten or so sounded when they all sat down to the supper table at once, because that’s the only way they did it. As I watch a goldfinch picking at a matching Black-eyed Susan, I wonder what posts my mother would have made as she loved her flowers and birds! I can’t imagine what her face looked like when she first held us kids in her arms. They just didn’t take pictures like that then, much less share them with strangers. But I’d love to see a real-life post – just a few anyway – from those times.
“The more things change, the more they stay the same” we have heard. I wonder if my great aunt Treva would’ve posted her amazing Four O’clocks on social media. She shared the seed with me about 35 years ago and I want to share the beauty and fragrance each year as they envelope our porch! No, somehow I doubt she would; she had cows to milk, strawberries to work, grandchildren to feed and hug and a hundred other chores of farm life. So, no, she wouldn’t take the time. I’m so thankful she took the time to share her flower seed with me so a part of her lives on in my life.
The little brown rabbit munching clover outside my window tempts me to grab a pic and share it, because a picture is worth a thousand words, they say. But again, why do I even think of that? It seems social media has invaded even our paths of thought. I have no point to make. I just think it’s interesting; both the rabbit and the notion of sharing such a common thing. Now, some have said posting of our personal lives is just bragging. I say phooey to those nay-sayers!
We’ve been taught (or at least should have been) to share since we were babies. Even as the tune “It’s a small small world” hums through my head, I feel the world has actually grown larger and larger until it has required a new way to share. There aren’t enough minutes in a day nor days in a week to share all our happenings with everyone we know. So here we are, sharing on social media outlets. Silly as it may seem at times, it’s fun, if everyone remembers the golden rule. Obviously we share what is important to us, so please don’t be offended when I share my love for our Creator God, the power of Jesus Christ and Holy Spirit. My intentions are to encourage and I hope they are received as such. I loved a post recently by Terra Weber sharing how her girlfriends pitched in and helped her in a pinch. I call that share-worthy; my rabbit, not so much (smile). If not for the encouragement from Cindy Lassiter’s garden posts, I might have given up and quit doing a thing that makes me feel so alive! At seeing Judith Darnell’s post of her rhododendrons, I thought, You go girl!
All the plants, birds and time with children I enjoy sharing, demonstrate the wonders of life for me. I have adopted the hashtag #encouragedbylife as my signature. (Do not look for me on Twitter; one outlet is all I can keep up with.) I hope others are encouraged to get out and experience more of nature after seeing posts from us nature lovers. If a little share here and there points someone to look for God in His creation, I am happy. If a shared post encourages a youngster to keep working hard and know he or she is loved, also great. What I hope we don’t forget is to keep sharing our actual, not virtual, lives. Giving of our time and resources to one another is the kind of sharing we never forget. A tree from Dana Bazzell, a hydrangea from Patsy Russell, Irises from my aunt Sue, and many other examples are real life shares. Retelling stories from the past keeps their sharing alive and reminds us there is really nothing new under the heavens. It’s just new to us, so share it if you like. #encouragedbylife
Twelve degrees, snow flurries covering a three-day-old layer of ice on the driveway, and it’s Sunday morning, February 14. Reluctant to disturb him from a warm quilt cocoon, I sipped my coffee and listened to the forecast of even lower temperatures, and placed my mass-produced Valentine card near my husband’s head. Oh I had taken time to select a card I thought was warm and sincere in expressing my affection, but compared to what lay ahead today, my signature and six bucks was not much after all.
Eventually he came to life, and with a long look out the window, asked if we intended to go to our place of worship today. I said that I’d really like to. “Okay then, I’ll need to go get old Rose” he said, indicating the four-wheel drive SUV that he had wisely parked out of the weather in a farm shed several hundred yards down the road. Eyeing his red envelope, he sheepishly noted he didn’t buy me anything, but sure appreciated my card. Without breakfast, he was out swapping vehicles while I showered and dressed in the warmth of gas heat and hot water. With time running short, he skipped the slow paced morning most men would have loved today and headed for the shower himself. Shower on; toilet flushed, water running; then water off – all by itself. No water. No shower. What in the world! If you’ve been outdoors in frigid temperatures you know it takes effort to bundle up. Add to that the fact our well and pump are in the field next to our lawn, so there’s that. He checked it out and said the this or that was something or other. I do not speak plumbese. While I stood asking what do we do, what do we do, he made the call to our local well and pump caretakers, on an emergency only day. Cha-ching!
As we waited, we worshipped via laptop with our home congregation. Just after services began, I received an important long distance phone call and had to leave the room. While I was taking the call, this Valentine cupid followed me with the services found on his cell phone, having prepared the fruit of the vine and unleavened bread I had stored, and served communion for us as he knew how important a thing that is for me.
Shortly after worship, a serviceman knocked at the door, stating he heated the pump switch, and that we should keep our water dripping now. Never mind how I was retorting “the water WAS running”; my husband held his tongue and thanked the guy most sincerely for getting out in the cold and I knew I was in the presence of a pretty wonderful Valentine.
Next, I had to report that my commode was now running non-stop. So my Valentine tinkered with the thing-a-ma-bob inside the tank and took care of it. Could he rest now? No, now it was time to go pick up the groceries I ordered yesterday. We left an hour early to drop off a birthday card and gift to a friend, so with time to spend, he drove me to a six-car-wait line for my favorite coffee. Groceries gathered and home again, he gathered supplies and braved the elements once more to insulate the well pump switch just for added assurance. And it’s only 1:30 PM.
Store bought valentines are fine, candy is a danger, and jewelry is for Christmas and anniversaries. What I received today, Valentines Day 2021, is the jewel of patience and kindness and a true sweetheart!! Little things mean so much!
As I was proof-reading to publish, my thoughtful brother-in-law and sister dropped off part of the cheesecake he bought for her Valentines’s Day treat. Seems she and I have much to fill and warm our hearts on this very cold February day.
With social distancing in place, our seats in worship are anywhere we find a vacant spot. Today it was the balcony. At the end of service, we exited with the crowd, moving along fluidly; again, minimizing contact due to Covid 19. My mind was on the people I saw and heard. Some I hadn’t spoken to in months – again due to the swiftness of exit, the masks and different seating – and some I’d love to get a hug from; and then the snippets of conversations and wondering about the rest of their stories.
A word of caution: reading the following may cause one to dread aging. Don’t judge until you’re there:)
As we entered the vestibule at the bottom of the stairs, we fell into the flow of those coming from the auditorium toward the exit or other classrooms. As my husband paused at the trash can to leave our communion packaging, he whispered “Is that it?” Assuming he meant was that all he needed to discard, I nodded affirmative and we were swept on through the commons area and out the door. Concern for a troubled stranger in our midst gave us added distraction from the norm. Not a bad thing; in fact, I realize we enter and exit worship far too often on auto-pilot and need a little extra stimulus to ponder our plot in life. But I digress.
As he started our car, my husband again questioned me, “So we aren’t having class again?” Class. Oh. Class! Suddenly I realized I’d gone with the flow of folks and completely forgotten about Sunday School! Had I been entertaining purposeful thinking, I’d have realized he was asking at the trash can if we were leaving. Duh. Feeling kinda foolish I opted for continuing on our way home instead of walking back inside, against the flow. Now, this isn’t about a virus, nor precautions, nor even about Sunday school attendance. It’s about the difference purposeful thinking makes in whether we go with the flow, take another route, or step aside and hold our place until we’re good to go. (Maybe it’s somewhat about absent mindedness too, which I’ve been accused of before.)
How might we have altered our outcome? Two ways; one, take another route. There’s a side hall to step into from the balcony stairs and through it, we would have many doors of opportunity to enter the auditorium for class without interrupting the smooth flow of traffic. The other option would be to wait; taking time to watch from a distance as our brothers and sisters moved in tandem toward the door. We could then make our way to our auditorium class minus the mass exit.
In life as well, it feels natural to go with the flow. But what is popular may not be best. The path of least resistance is easier, but it doesn’t build strength. The crowd’s concerns are not likely matched to your cares, nor can you see the signs ahead if lost in the crowd. Or, my leg of the journey may need further planning, mapping; perhaps I need to reenter the destination in my GPS. Purposeful thinking – looking ahead at desired outcomes – may cause us to divert our direction, or press the pause button.
Diversion may find us taking a side road less traveled where we can experience new opportunity to bless and be blessed. By the way, diversion can also force the enemy from the principle point of operation, where he expects us to be following mindlessly. It brings to mind the words from Matthew 7: 13-14, “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.” (NIV) Not a very popular thought, but those words are from the mouth of Jesus. I need to put that in my Garmin.
Pressing the pause button as well, just might be a gap of opportunity in which we see others instead of self; where we can refuel; time to regroup. This is a good time to recall God’s word. “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 6:10 NKJV)
So, we missed Sunday class, but I learned a lesson. I’ll listen with purposeful thinking when my husband asks a question. (OK, I will try.) And if I don’t want to swim back upstream, I better divert my direction ahead of time, or wait patiently when purposeful thought says, “You do not want to go with the crowd”.
“You comprehend my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways.” Psalm 139:3 NKJV
Before the storms….spidey in the summer shadowsAfter our first frost…we shall see.
This pretty Spider Plant may have “bit the dust” on my watch. As the photo comparisons over a couple months show, Spidey has grown in spite of being thrown to the ground during three summer storms. Finding a lower perch for her did help, but only after losing several of the ‘babies’ and leaves. After all that, last night’s frost may be her demise. She looks good enough this morning but only a day or two of sunshine will tell for sure. The same for the prettiest roses I’ve had all year. Roses do not appreciate too much rain so they have only lately had their richest color and fragrance. I’d have covered Mr. Lincoln had I seen it coming. I have hopes that the chrysanthemums were not hurt, but this was a 36 degree white frost so, what should I expect? Wasn’t this a bit early for frost in western Kentucky? Oh yes, this IS 2020!
Why didn’t I see it coming? First, I stopped watching. I stopped listening. My mind was not open to hearing the news so I even missed the weather forecast with its frost advisory. Secondly, complacency; I was enjoying the amazing weather so much that I couldn’t think of it having a possible down side. Thirdly, and hardest to admit, I kinda dreaded dealing with it. She is heavy, cumbersome, and where am I going to keep it all winter? She resided with all the other house plants in our sunroom last winter, but she has put on some bulk since then. Just picking her up after the storms was almost more than I could handle and now I need to figure a way to pack her into the house. That is, if she survived.
Mr. Lincoln long stemmed rose below the autumn berries of Washington Hawthorne
Does any of this sound familiar? Am I watching and listening to the cues of loved ones, friends, or scripture? We may become so engrossed in day to day pleasures or pain that we miss the hints that a friend needs encouragement or a loved one may be falling off the edge. Do we grow tired or discouraged when reaching out to someone hasn’t reached far enough? As much as we love God’s Word, do we subconsciously look past the heavy verse that might change a comfortable aspect of our lives? It is difficult to admit, but yes, I do. All of these, from time to time haunt me and last night’s frost serves as a reminder. However, the beauty of the day also reminds me of God’s grace, shielding me and providing new opportunities every day to be watchful, to provide care and compassion, while enjoying His blessings all the more! “Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, Because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-24)
Hopefully shielded by the roof overhang.
The New Testament writers were inspired to warn us to be watchful for the wiles of the devil; for the return of Jesus; for our souls’ well being as well as the welfare of others. Here are just a few. “Be on guard, keep awake. For you do not know when the time will come.” (Mark 13:33 ESV) “Watch, stand fast in the faith, be brave, be strong.” (I Corinthians 16:13 NKJV) “But the end of all things is at hand; therefore be serious and watchful in your prayers.” (I Peter 4:7). “Continue steadfastly in prayer, being watchful in it with thanksgiving.” (Colossians 4:2 ESV) ” Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood.” (Acts 20:28 NIV)
Have a beautiful autumn. It is still my favorite even with it’s surprises.
My thoughts have whirled about in my mind this weekend like little Maple tree wings caught in the wind. Like everyone, I’m adjusting to new firsts. The year has had a strange beginning, from climate to Covid; demanding a new norm.
Dreary describes the weather today, Easter Sunday, with another cold Kentucky rain. Memories flit through my mind of sunny breezy days with young children running through grassy tufts, peering into shrubs and up the downspouts. Baskets of brightly colored eggs swing on their arms; plastic eggs with coins or jelly beans rattling inside, some hard boiled eggs dyed and decorated the day before and some cellophane-wrapped marshmallows. I never have understood the connection between egg-laying rabbits and the resurrection of Christ. Nor do I get the connection between baby chicks that were dyed pastel colors and curly paper grass in a basket. Still, I did all of it. From brand new patent leather shoes to a pair of white gloves, my memories run strong in the wake of Easters gone by.
This year is a new memory for everyone no matter our ages, for never before have we been socially separated from one another on Easter Sunday, or any other day for that matter, unless someone in the family had the measles or chicken pox or such. For several weeks now we have had a new place of worship, at home. Here is ours.
We are thankful for online live worship services, just one of many things I have taken for granted up until now.
A whole new appreciation for the smart phone emerged today as I video chatted with each of our children, showing them the meal we wish they were here to share.
Receiving pictures of two great nephews on the day they hunted Easter eggs; two others as they played with their baby chickens; and video chatting great nieces with new hair color were the highlights of our day before Easter. At first I felt lonesome to see them, but knew too, that we have no idea what lonesome is as long as we can be there electronically. You know, the more I think about our distancing, the more I see us coming together. Thinking of ways to overcome the voids is a tradition that goes back, way back, to a time I have only heard of, and not seen.
Traditions are cunning little comforts. Whether the practice of worshipping with a church family, or meeting with friends for a game of Rook, until something is taken away, we don’t realize what a comfort it is. It has been good to be reminded of times I have taken for granted. Linda Pugh reminded me this morning of a time I now miss. She said her mom always handmade a new Easter dress for her. I remember several little Easter frocks I made for my daughter. Just as I am sure Linda remembers the love her mom sewed into those dresses, I remember, and miss, the pleasure it gave me to create a garment for my little girl. Good times.
There was an Easter tradition in my childhood in which Mama bought each of her three children new outfits, right down to the little white knee socks and bow tie for our little brother. I recall the excitement of spreading out all the new items on the bed the night before – dress, cancan (ruffled slip in the South), socks, shoes, an accessory such as gloves, or some years a purse. She certainly did not have the extra money to do it; but working 50 hours a week outside the home, she had not yet developed sewing skills. I believe she did it to show us how important we were to her; to symbolically give us a new spring start. The first few Easters of adulthood when I didn’t have a new Spring outfit, felt like I was doing something wrong; the comfort of tradition was missing. I soon learned that tradition is not essential.
Linda also recalled her dad buying pink and blue baby chicks for her siblings and herself each Easter. Now there’s a tradition serving two purposes: fun for the kids now, and fried chicken later. Or eggs to gather; eggs that in future Easters would be boiled, dipped in food coloring and hidden for another hunt. I guess bunnies and baby chickens are like the newness of Spring, when all things are being resurrected. The eggs though…I just don’t know.
I hope your new norm is working out, and that Easter wasn’t too hard for you. I do know one who was very sad and alone today; we talked late in the evening and all I could do was assure him this will pass. I encouraged him to take care of himself, get some exercise, eat healthy, hang in there – at home. Jesus said something similar to His disciples as recorded in John 13, paraphrased, He said, Love one another, keep my commandments, take care of each other and I will be back for you. On the resurrection morning He said to Mary (John 20) I am ascending to the Father, so you go tell the others. Later he let the disciples know they had a job to do until He would come again; to spread the word everywhere that forgiveness of sins could be had through Himself. “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28: 19). And when He comes again, we too will have a resurrection day. Happy Spring!
Today’s Monday Musings is a look inward where I find I may, as they say, not see the forest for the trees; throw out the baby with the bath water, and so on. You’ll find my actual gardening addiction may parallel some plane of your life where the busy-ness suffocates the beauty. Dig in 🙂
Wild violets – disguised in their dainty blooms.
I know it’s true, I’m a hypocrite; a two timer and a shell of a housewife. I’ve backslid into the wayward life of a ground grubbing, weed wrenching maniac. Just last year I wrote and spoke on the topic of letting go; releasing the weights that pull us away from embracing new seasons. I’ve said that we must let go of what holds us back from celebrating the beauty within each new season, accepting, acknowledging and praising. Oh, I have accepted (that weeds and grass rule my life); I have acknowledged (that it’s up to me to get them); and I have…uh, prais…no, it’s time to come clean, cleaner than my fingernails. My praising in the garden was beautiful that first round of dew laden blooms, before the devil woke up the nutsedge, the bermuda grass, and the wild violets. I am a compulsive gardener; I need help.
How does it happen? I walk through the gardens once a day (a tip from Mama’s cousin for a successful garden). I figured if she did so, and lived nearly 100 years, that’s all the encouragement I need! And the therapeutic effect of evicting those weeds, clearing the ground filth and watching a garden take bloom, or become a dinner plate of delicious is just beyond compare! First an innocent walk-through, and the next thing I know, I’m up to my elbows in dirt, swatting those biting flies, with blurry eyes from the salty sweat; it’s time for dinner with nothing planned, there’s laundry to do and the dust bunnies are playing. Shame. So much shame.
For those of you laughing out the words “mow it down or spray it brown”, go sit with my husband. No thank you, I love my flowers and I hate that dead brown stuff left everywhere that he escaped my guard with his Round-Up wand. So what I end up with is this. I have weeded myself into a corner; a vicious cyclic corner where I have failed to adore the beauty and the Maker of it. I am so enrapt with weeding out the bad, that I haven’t given due respect to the beauty of opening buds and unfurling leaves that are the product of my work and God’s grace. I now ask Him to rescue me, remind me of His far greater purpose for me, and to return me to the communion I had with Him in the midst of His garden.
To apply a grain of wisdom I’ve gleaned, I hope to be able to read the newspaper, listen to the news and observe the unwelcome changes in life with a new eye for the good, the grandeur and splendor of life’s garden, rather than combing the corrupt with a long handled weeder. I want to acknowledge and praise God for the bountiful blessings instead of attacking life with a hoe, and a garden trowel. What is wrong with me? Who cares if my butterfly garden seating area is clean and welcoming, if I have no time to sit and invite others into it. Who cares how clean my rows of Blue Lake bush beans are, if I never pick and share them? Likewise, who will hear about Jesus the great physician, if I haven’t made time to visit the sick? I have weeded out life’s blooms; so focused on the work and blinded to the beauty.
But the summer is young. There is time for reforming. Oh, I’m not saying I will give it up. There is so much beauty in gardening that I cannot leave it as long as there’s breath in me and God gives me the ability. The secret is in balance. Schedules work for other important parts of life; I shall schedule my dates with the dandelions, and be sure to sit a spell mid the bluebirds’ perch at the wheat field’s edge, and inhale the fragrance of the warm moist garden dirt. If I am truly nearer God’s heart in a garden, then I will be using that time to meditate on His word and plan what I might be doing for someone else before the day is gone. When I begin to feel overwhelmed, I will stop and pray for the strength to walk away.
In Jesus’ teaching, as recorded in Matthew, I read that He doesn’t want me to be so aggressive toward the evil deeds that I uproot the good that can be accomplished toward all people. I think He was teaching us to hate the sin and love the person, and the Father will sort it all out in the end. I know that if I begin to weed or hoe the garden while the young seedlings are too small, it will uproot them too. They would never get a chance to produce fruit.
“He put another parable before them, saying, “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a man who sowed good seed in his field,but while his men were sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and went away.So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared also.And the servants of the master of the house came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? How then does it have weeds?’He said to them, ‘An enemy has done this.’ So the servants said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he said, ‘No, lest in gathering the weeds you root up the wheat along with them.” (Matthew 13: 24-29 ESV)