In the weeds...
"The Lord lifts the burdens of those bent beneath their loads" Psalm 146:8
A few minutes ago, I stepped outside to sit on my front porch. I needed to breathe. I needed to see air and space and green grass. I needed to inhale the bigness of God's Creation outside of the sometimes bubble of my life.
I sat on the pollen covered front step. Black pants on, but not a care in the world for those pants that would soon be covered with yellow dust. I just needed to sit and be still.
As I looked over our yard, a faint giggle came to my lips. We have weeds the size of a small toddler growing everywhere. I have recently teased my friends that they were secretly planning to start a "go-fund me page" for our yard.
Don't get me wrong, we have a great yard. However, with cutting a few trees down, we have dirt piles and we are majorly in need of pine straw for our flower beds.
We are patiently waiting for our yard maintenance company to squeeze us into his overloaded schedule for a major yard overhaul. My husband has declared he is not pulling one weed or wasting and ounce of energy on this yard until the extreme make-over of our lawn is complete.
I tend to disagree. We live right smack in the middle of town where everyone and their grandma drives by to take kids to school. [hello, humility]
A little weed pulling would not hurt, I assured him. He sticks to his theory. He says [with ALL seriousness], the worse the yard gets as we wait for the yard man, the better it will appear once it is finished. [I am still scratching my head over that]
But, as I sat there a few minutes ago looking at dandelions, weeds, and tall yellow flowers growing wildly about me, I began to feel a freedom slowly washing over me.
Who cares.
Really, who cares.
There is freedom in growing wild and carefree. There is freedom in not conforming to the norm or keeping up with the status quo set in our always- comparing -ourselves -to -others mind.
As I eyed the weeds, I began to see beauty. So much beauty.
Those weeds were finally able to bloom. To be set free from a life only able to live just above the soil until someone bends down and snatches them up by the root.
Gosh, don't we feel like weeds sometimes? Like, we just cannot bloom because something or someone is constantly telling us we don't belong. We are not quite enough.
The burden of trying to live up to a certain set of standards warps our soul and our uniqueness.
He has made everything beautiful in its time. Everything.[Ecclesiastes 3:11]
Perfectly manicured lives can often be lifeless. Dead. And lost of all of God's beautiful design and purpose.
Because...
With perfectly manicured lives comes a burden. The burden of maintaining that perfection. It will not allow us to get messy with loving others. We won't desire anything in our lives that will mess with the life we have on display. The load will get heavy. The maintenance will grow our hearts cold and devoid of allowing others to frolic in our space.
Weeds attract footprints and an open invitation to step right on in and pick as many wildflowers as your heart pleases. There is no limit on the giving or the taking in a field of wildflowers. Take what you please. More will grow right back up in its place.
Oh, I long to live like wildflowers. Wild and free.
Perfectly content with who God created me to be. Where He created me to live. And all He brings into my space. With open arms waving for all to come in and sit down among the weeds and wild flowers.
Instead of apologizing for all of the weeds, allowing them to partake of a life of freedom right along side of me. Soaking up the beauty of messy love, messy yards, and messy lives.
There is beauty in the mess.
So much beauty.
We find our purpose there because our eyes begin to focus upward and outward instead of inward.
If you happen to drive by my house, feel free to come and play in the wildflowers. Pick them, blow the dandelions all over the place, and then come knock on my door. I will greet you with a hot cup of coffee or a cold can of La Croix. Depending on the time of day you come.
You are welcome here. Mess and all.
learning to love weeds,
jill
A few minutes ago, I stepped outside to sit on my front porch. I needed to breathe. I needed to see air and space and green grass. I needed to inhale the bigness of God's Creation outside of the sometimes bubble of my life.
I sat on the pollen covered front step. Black pants on, but not a care in the world for those pants that would soon be covered with yellow dust. I just needed to sit and be still.
As I looked over our yard, a faint giggle came to my lips. We have weeds the size of a small toddler growing everywhere. I have recently teased my friends that they were secretly planning to start a "go-fund me page" for our yard.
Don't get me wrong, we have a great yard. However, with cutting a few trees down, we have dirt piles and we are majorly in need of pine straw for our flower beds.
We are patiently waiting for our yard maintenance company to squeeze us into his overloaded schedule for a major yard overhaul. My husband has declared he is not pulling one weed or wasting and ounce of energy on this yard until the extreme make-over of our lawn is complete.
I tend to disagree. We live right smack in the middle of town where everyone and their grandma drives by to take kids to school. [hello, humility]
A little weed pulling would not hurt, I assured him. He sticks to his theory. He says [with ALL seriousness], the worse the yard gets as we wait for the yard man, the better it will appear once it is finished. [I am still scratching my head over that]
But, as I sat there a few minutes ago looking at dandelions, weeds, and tall yellow flowers growing wildly about me, I began to feel a freedom slowly washing over me.
Who cares.
Really, who cares.
There is freedom in growing wild and carefree. There is freedom in not conforming to the norm or keeping up with the status quo set in our always- comparing -ourselves -to -others mind.
As I eyed the weeds, I began to see beauty. So much beauty.
Those weeds were finally able to bloom. To be set free from a life only able to live just above the soil until someone bends down and snatches them up by the root.
Gosh, don't we feel like weeds sometimes? Like, we just cannot bloom because something or someone is constantly telling us we don't belong. We are not quite enough.
The burden of trying to live up to a certain set of standards warps our soul and our uniqueness.
He has made everything beautiful in its time. Everything.[Ecclesiastes 3:11]
Perfectly manicured lives can often be lifeless. Dead. And lost of all of God's beautiful design and purpose.
Because...
With perfectly manicured lives comes a burden. The burden of maintaining that perfection. It will not allow us to get messy with loving others. We won't desire anything in our lives that will mess with the life we have on display. The load will get heavy. The maintenance will grow our hearts cold and devoid of allowing others to frolic in our space.
Weeds attract footprints and an open invitation to step right on in and pick as many wildflowers as your heart pleases. There is no limit on the giving or the taking in a field of wildflowers. Take what you please. More will grow right back up in its place.
Oh, I long to live like wildflowers. Wild and free.
Perfectly content with who God created me to be. Where He created me to live. And all He brings into my space. With open arms waving for all to come in and sit down among the weeds and wild flowers.
Instead of apologizing for all of the weeds, allowing them to partake of a life of freedom right along side of me. Soaking up the beauty of messy love, messy yards, and messy lives.
There is beauty in the mess.
So much beauty.
We find our purpose there because our eyes begin to focus upward and outward instead of inward.
If you happen to drive by my house, feel free to come and play in the wildflowers. Pick them, blow the dandelions all over the place, and then come knock on my door. I will greet you with a hot cup of coffee or a cold can of La Croix. Depending on the time of day you come.
You are welcome here. Mess and all.
learning to love weeds,
jill
