Ode to Weeds

“What does the worker gain from his toil?  I have seen the burden God has laid on men.  He has made everything beautiful in His time…”  Ecclesiastes 3:9-11a

“Mrs. Lora was the kind of teacher who loved every kid the same, even the weeds.  She showed me how she felt, one time when we were walking home together.  She stopped to look at a little purple flower growing from the road stripe in the middle of the street.  ‘Well, isn’t that something, Epie?’ she said.  ‘Look how it’s blooming right there with the cars driving by.  Just goes to prove that life doesn’t have to be perfect for something beautiful to grow.’  (Dandelion Summer by Lisa Wingate).

…toil

I’m trying to find another crack in the sidewalk.  It’s harder than I thought it would be…  When we moved back to the States three years ago, I thought this change would be more like another flower transplant, from one perennial bed to another.  When a gardener moves perennials, often we move more than just the flower with the roots, but also with a bit of the dirt packed around it.  We keep it moist and find it a new home, carefully adding in the new soil around that bit of the original soil.  By the next summer the adjustment is made and the plant is blooming again.  Past moves and changes led me to believe that it will be okay in a year or two.  So the struggle to settle surprises me.  The toil of my soul in trying to find that crack tires me.

…burden

But four summers later, I’m still wondering if I will ever bloom again.  Rather than a transplant, this time I feel like the seeds of my life were just scattered to the wind.  I’m like a seed all dried out and trying to find a crack that will have enough moisture, enough nourishment to put down roots.  I’ve worked so hard to pamper the other plants around me – my children, my husband, my extended family, even my new church family – making sure that they can bloom in this new place, in a new stage in life, under various adversities… Has God laid this burden on me?  I don’t see what He sees, why He needs me in this place and in this life circumstance.  Why can’t I just go back to when life was a bit more hopeful, when I could be carefree with my kids, when the worries of life didn’t wear me out so quickly?

…beauty

And all the while I still wonder, am I a weed that will turn bitter and someone will just want to come along and yank out?  Or will I be a “volunteer”, not pampered with fertilizer and attention, but struggling to survive, blooming in spite of the imperfect world, perhaps seeming out of place, but beautiful just the same.