In a move completely unlike any I have made before, I decided to plant a flower garden. Just one flower bed, really. The idea came from brainstorming summer home school activities that would interest myself and the boys without feeling like schoolwork. Between my own start-of-summer drama and travel, the garden is off to a slow start. However, I am pushing forward and already enjoying the experience. I just came inside the house because I was getting too hot. Midday is probably not the best choice for manual labor. I am waiting on that section of yard to gain some shade, and then I will return to my teal gloves and matching water bottle (these were not purchased together, so the matchy-matchy is not purposeful).
I originally posted a photo of the barren patch of dirt on Facebook and asked my green-thumbed friends to chip in with ideas. I was honestly clueless. The extent of my gardening knowledge was thus: good soil, plants for a certain season. My friends were generous in their help and suggestions, as was my husband. I feel a slight bit more confident now. As I was working, this morning, I could see why people love it. The spiritual applications I am finding seem to never end.
For instance, Corey told me to get rid of the weeds first. Kill them and pull them up by the roots. How do I poison the roots of sin and shame in my own life? I would think faith in generous amounts could easily poison doubt and distrust. Love could poison the shame-roots. Truth is poisonous to lies, so start heaping the truth of God’s word onto the lies Satan is whispering, and those weeds will begin to die. Poison, by itself, is not enough, however. You will have to pull those dead weeds up by the roots, or else the right bit of breeze and water will help them thrive again. You have to repent and turn in a whole new direction, planting your own roots deep in Christ.
This morning, I began by picking up rocks and debris that have gathered in my small plot of earth. Plastic spoon, kitchen tile, red brick, plastic bag, curve of rainbow glass, how did you find your way to this place of all places? I also spent time pulling up roots. Not just the weeds, but also trees someone along the way had planted. These trees have deep roots but no tops. The roots are long and rope-like, stretching in all directions. I had to get creative, pulling one slender root at a time, until I could dislodge the hard ball of wood from the center of the squid. One root ran the entire edge of the rectangular plot. I kept digging and digging and pulling and pulling. It broke off at one point and, when I return to my task, I will need to dig a little deeper and pull at it again.
This is what I am trying to do in my life, as well. I have discovered some hard spots of dead wood. My first attempts to get rid of them failed. Medication only makes me blind to the trees or more tolerant of the trees . . . these trees that someone else chose to plant in my life. There were men who planted Fear and Distrust. There were seeds of self-doubt and self-loathing that one person planted, another watered, and many gathered fruit from. Over the years, I have merely chopped these trees up for firewood, leaving behind their knotty stumps and roots that reach down inside who I am. It is time to dig around in the dark soil of childhood, adolescence, early motherhood, etc . . . It is time to quit ignoring the trees, thinking I have dealt with them by taking my axe blade to their trunks. I have to get the roots out and be done with them. I want flowers in my garden, at last.
