Weeds

     One hobby I have enjoyed since early married days is gardening. In 2007, the first summer I decided to plant a garden, I remember feeling a sense of exhilaration at the prospect of being able to plant whatever I wanted to since I was now the lady of the house. The garden catalog came out, I bought two books on how to grow fruits and vegetables from McKays (we didn’t have internet at home back then), and I set to work on my little backyard plot. A lot of memories from that garden bring smiles to my face, but I’ll save those for a personal conversation if anyone is interested, so as not to be tedious to those who aren’t into gardening.

    A major antagonist that every gardener encounters is persistent weeds. In 2016, I wrote a poem describing that problem, which is as old as Adam's first post-Fall struggle to wrest food from the ground (Gen. 3:17-19). Believe it or not, understanding those pesky weeds can actually help us out in other areas of life that extend far beyond the scope of the garden...
    

-MaryBeth Hall

  Weeds

 One day I planted tiny seeds,
And dreamed of fragrant flowers fair
That soon would grow and bud and bloom,
And grace the air with their perfume.
 
The dirt was rich and watered right;
The spot would get good bright sunlight.
Well-cut stones enclosed the plot;
 Blankets of mulch finished the spot.
 
With dusty hands I strode away.
I’d put in good hard work that day,
And my rewards the time would tell.
My job was through, and finished well.
 
But, lo, it was not so to be!
For as the little flowers pushed
Their bright green stems up through the ground,
There came imposters scattered round.
 
At first I didn’t notice them
(So harmless did they all blend in),
But as the days and weeks went by
They grew much stronger, thick and high.
 
Then one day I chanced to pass
And saw the weeds’ results at last.
‘Twas then I learned a lesson true:
A gardener’s job is never through!
 
I tackled once again the ground,
And had a lot of go-arounds
With stubborn weeds that held on tight.
It was a constant, hard-won fight.
 
At last I gained the victory,
For I checked the flower bed daily,
And gave no weeds a chance to grow
With roots so deep that didn’t show.
 
My life is like that flower bed:
There are daily fights (unless you’re dead!);
Sin struggles hard its hold to keep,
Its vines to creep, its harvest reap.
 
I’ll let the Gardener of my heart
Have His way daily, right from the start.
By letting His hands help me grow,
I’ll bloom forth and His glories show.
 
Sometimes I don’t see tiny weeds,
But He knows all and meets my needs.
I’ll seek His wisdom to pull them out
Before their ugly heads do sprout.
 
Salvation works each day in me
That more like Jesus I may be;
His holiness, my soul’s possession,
Still daily must make transformation.
 
What are these weeds that I must pull?
Anything that keeps the full
Abundant life He’s promised me
From being my reality.
 
So, Father, help me daily check,
And uproot all that sin reflects.
Put Your kind hands on top of mine,
That Your good strength I’ll always find.
 
A life of beauty is lived by days
Of beauty shown in small, sweet ways;
Consistent work I’ll strive to do
That Your creation may honor You!