My son, Doug, loves weeds. I mean, he loves weeds as much as clouds love the sky. He taps them. He folds and molds them. I’ve even found them under his pillow. The one nice thing about it is that he isn’t particular; he likes any color, size, shape, or form.
“Doug, what are you doing with that weed in the house?” I questioned impatiently one spring day. “I’m just cleaning and I’ve already thrown away a big handful that I’ve found all over. Now take that old thing outside and don’t bring another one in the house. Do you understand?”
“All right!” exclaimed Doug, with that look of persistence in his eyes. “But they aren’t just old things. Anyway, what did God make ‘um for?”
As Doug turned his back and marched out into the yard with his treasure, I pondered the question on his six-year-old mind, knowing he wanted and expected an answer from me. Why does God make weeds?”
“Well,” Doug said, reentering the house and placing his hands firmly on his hips. “If they are there, then why did God make ‘um?”
I knelt beside Doug and took his hands. “I think God made weeds for little boys to enjoy. I think He knew that you would be one of the special ones who would love and find beauty in weeds.”
A big smile spread across Doug’s face. I could tell that he felt that inner glow of being someone special in the world, a feeling we all need to experience, whether we are two or seventy-two.
“You see, Doug, not everyone thinks weeds are beautiful. It takes a special eye to see their beauty.”
“Do your eyes like ‘um, Mom?”
“Well, my eyes do, but I like them best outside, because I don’t like to pick them up all over the house. Maybe you can pick them and plant them and play with them outside. Then I think I’d like them even more.”
“Okay,” was the unconcerned reply as Doug turned and flew back out of the house.
Did our little conversation work miracles? Are you kidding! I still find weeds in the house. Somehow, I don’t get quite as upset about it anymore. I realize that somewhere in our childhood most of us are squashed and molded into liking those things that everyone else likes. We can no longer see the beauty and purpose of weeds. The beauty-loving mind and the tender soul of my little son were also made by God and placed in my field to love.
I must end my story now. I have just received a lovely gift from my son. I must get this bouquet of weeds in water. They mean a lot to both of us.