Tip of My Iceberg

I’m not a gardener by choice or design. I have a knack for killing things that are green and growing.

I garden because we own a home. A necessary evil to stay in the good graces of our HMO. And the neighbors.

Saturday we typically mow the yard. What I enjoy about that is it’s mindless. You keep moving and see an immediate reward for your efforts.

There’s so little of that in life.

I’ve been sick, so rather than mow, I weeded. Down on my hands and knees. Pulling those insufferable little things from the lawn. Ugly business.

Ruined my nails. Still have dirt under what’s left of them.

Funny thing is those weeds are growing quite well. Thriving, actually. And they’re greener than our grass.

From a distance, it looks amazing. Our yard looks healthy.

I asked John about the possibility of cultivating this instead of the St. Augustine. It obviously wants to grow in our yard, even though we don’t want it. It moved in, unasked.

Not a chance.

As great as it looks, this stuff isn’t helping. It grows, well, like a weed. Fast and insidious. It grows low, under the St. Augustine, where you can’t see it. And as time passes and nothing is done, it begins to cover the real grass.

There’s the problem. A healthy yard isn’t sustainable if I ignore what’s growing right under my nose. If I don’t deal with it.

My life is the same way.

On the surface, I’m an easy-going, fun-loving, go-with-the-flow kind of a person. Most folks would agree.

Unless they live with me. Or know me well.

It’s hard to hide my weeds from those who see me daily. Those I’ve let in and have allowed to witness my failures. My shortcomings. My raw needs and open wounds.

Frankly, life would be easier if I could hide my crap. I wouldn’t have to explain myself. Or try to make people understand.

Or ask forgiveness.

I know many who pride themselves on being transparent. Letting people see who they really are. I’ve been one of those.

There’s a difference between transparency and vulnerability. Transparency may let people see my stuff. Vulnerability invites them in to comment on it. To engage me in my stuff.

It’s the difference between seeing that weeds exist in my yard and inviting someone to help me weed.

We’ve all got weeds in our lives. Things that are hidden, often even from our awareness. We typically don’t jump to doing things that are totally wrong. We slide into them, making bad choices on a small scale. Not thinking one small weed could ruin our whole lawn.

But it can. If left unchecked.

Jesus is the Master Gardener. He wants to cultivate the good in us that reflects Him, not torch the whole yard because weeds exist. It’ll require pruning and pulling. Which can be painful. But He doesn’t just prune.

He nurtures.

Inviting Jesus to garden with me is a challenge. It won’t always be a bed of roses.

It will mean one incredible looking yard in the future, though, that I could never accomplish on my own.

I can dig that.