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Weeds

Over the years, I have grown quite accustomed to having a yard bursting with every conceivable shade of brown.


Through my neglect and, if I'm honest, indifference, I've managed to kill enough plants to cater a convention of raw vegans.


But last year, I moved into a new home with a beautiful, green lawn and I decided to do something I've never before done.


I decided to try.


Yesterday morning, I donned a pair of old sneakers and, armed with a garden hose and a push mower, set about tending to my lawn.


I've been at it a few weeks now and I'm pleased to report that the grass is still reasonably green and the flowers appear to be making some degree of progress.


But as I stood there, admiring my work, I noticed something else springing up from the soil.


Weeds.


The weeds have grown at an alarming rate in and among my budding flowers.


What aggravates me is that they've grown without any effort on my part.


Why can't the flowers do that?


And these weeds not just grown, but flourished. One particularly obstinate weed shot up two feet (yes, I measured) in a matter of days.


Despite my frustration, I got thinking about my heart. The things I most want to see grow, the flowers, if you will – the kindness, the love, the grace – take a lot of work. I must tend to them, care for them, cultivate them.


But the weeds – the selfishness, the jealousy, the pride –grows wild without any effort at all.


They spring up when I least expect them to and often consume that which I have tried so hard to nurture.


Caring for my heart takes a lot of work. It grows weeds much more readily than it grows flowers. But, in truth, even my best efforts to tend my own heart prove inadequate. I am inadequate.


What my heart needs is Jesus. Fortunately, He's a much better gardener than I.

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