I am not a fan of gardening, but I admire those who take to weeding like Olympic athletes: the focus, the passion and the energy they have. The skill of welding a pitchfork, and they rake with such precision and strength that the end result is beauty and magic. On the other hand, I find it less amazing. I grumble with each pulling of weed, sneering at the slugs, bugs, and, dear, I say it, butterflies. It feels like a never-ending task, this gardening chore, and I have lost the battle even before I started. My attitude sets the tone, and it’s quite a sad sight to behold. But I continue. Driven by the embarrassment of an unkept yard and nothing more at first. Then, something inside me changes. I notice under thick weeds a cluster of delicate purple flowers, heads straining for the light. My efforts changed from dreading the task to work focused on revealing the beauty. There is a shift in me, and I see the purpose, the effort and the beauty lying among the weeds. Those delicate flowers straining for the light make me think of Jesus, who is often referred to as “light.” John 8:12: “ John describes Jesus as “The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it’. John 1:4-51 and again in John 1:7: “But if we walk in the light, as he is the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.”God was merciful and loved us in our brokenness trapped under weeds, searching for meaning and purpose in our lives, looking for hope, love, and acceptance, searching for something far greater than ourselves. I’m grateful that God is a patient gardener, moving and clearing the way so that out of our desperate dark place, we can see the light, the light of his son. This old gal needs to remember her own faith story and the dark place that a loving God has pulled her out of and placed her in the light. She needs not to be timid or afraid of her own voice or the loud voices of others she can’t change; she needs to live in God’s hope and abundance and in the light of the Son. So, I continue to garden this summer but with a different hope and outcome: with every stroke of the rake and every weed I pull, I humbly remember who is pruning me, shaping me, and always providing me with continued light so I can grow in his grace and glory. But that doesn’t mean I won’t grumble.

This old gal is a work in progress.

PS. The flower is called Purple Ice Plant (Delosperma cooperi).