callmeloquacious

In Indiana, I was the proud owner of a home built in 1900. (Maybe I should say co-owner with the bank!) I loved my house, the nooks and crannies. But then… there was the yard.

For those of you that may not know, me and the sun have a tumultuous relationship. That being said, I became a night-time gardener. You could find me in the yard after the sun set doing all the yard things. Prior to moving in, the yard had been neglected for over a year. Weeds and Roses of Sharon were running rampant. Bless all of you named Sharon, but that is not my plant. Every place that a piece of that plant landed, a new plant would sprout. The backyard was covered in Roses of Sharon trees. Throughout my first summer in my house, I was out in the yard at 9 pm. I would use every last minute of sunlight to cut down all of the Roses of Sharon. Then I would dig them out at the root. And yes, it’s a beautiful plant. And probably not my best move, but there I was. Nighttime gardening.

Then, there were the creeping poking thistles. Those things would grow 10 feet tall if you let them. I was the anti-thistle. The problem with those weedy weeds, is they connect underground. Interlocking. Popping up everywhere. Destroying real grass, infiltrating the roses (I did have rose roses) and my lovely hostas. They were the bane of my existence. But I was relentless.

Even years later, I still remember being in the yard, pulling out the thistles, and going for the underground roots. As I was gardening, I realized how destructive the seed of bitterness can be. When planted in a person’s heart, unless it is weeded out, a bitter seed can become like a creeping thistle and appear in every area of one’s life. The destruction can be as painful as stepping on a thistle. It hurts relationships. It hurts us.

After Clayton passed away, I would walk through the neighborhood. I would push Hunter, and my feet would pound the pavement. On one particular day as I was walking, I suddenly stopped. I was struck with the thought that my next step would determine where I would go. Would I take a step into thankfulness, or would I take a step into bitterness? Would I be thankful for the time with Clayton, for Hunter, the new baby, or would I be bitter? Would I allow that seed to take root in my heart. Would I become angry for all the things I lost?

I decided in that moment that I was going to step into thankfulness. I determined that if I allowed myself to become angry and bitter, I would walk down a road from which it would be hard to return. So I took a step, and I prayed. And prayed. And prayed. And I began counting my blessings.

I write this not to pat myself on the back. Not to say look at me I’ve got it all together. Because I don’t. I have other struggles. Things that require the Greatest Gardner’s help. I need Him to prune those areas of my life. To refine me. To make me better. More patient. Slower to speak. To show grace. I still have to ask Him for help and have to continually choose thankfulness.

I write this as an encouragement to all of us. It is not too late to receive help. It’s not too late to start again and start walking down a new road.

Now, who wants to go dig up some thistles?

XO,
Stephanie