Weeds

Kneeling in the cool grass was contradictory to her senses as the sun baked her shoulders not sheltered by her brittle straw hat. The sky was a shade of blue she hadn’t seen for eight months. A mosquito landed on her shoulder and immediately began to withdraw from her life force. Life force that she needed. Silently, and aggressively brushing the offender away, the woman caught a glimpse of what was left behind on her now pinkish skin. Smudged grime. Facing forward once more, she inhaled deeply through her nose, receiving in to her lungs the scent of over turned dirt, and exhaling out what had been clinging to her violently. The filth of burden that wasn’t hers to carry.

There were so many weeds. So. Many. Flexing her fingers in her muted bubble gum pink gardening gloves shaded with mud, she leaned forward, securely grasped the vibrant green imposter that was choking out the legitimate resident of the flower bed, and yanked. They had to go. There wasn’t room for them. If she left them, they would take over completely, strangling out the sherbet orange blossoms and silvery flowers. She knew this, and she attacked them with persistence. Why could she not do that in her very own soul? Why could she not grasp the burden securely, yank it out, and toss it aside.

Tilting back on her heels with her hands on her rounded hips, she knew green would now decorate her knees. That was okay. There simply wasn’t another way. Would she finish today? No. But, she would make progress. Grasping her hands behind her back, she raised her arms up for a shoulder stretch. She needed to let this go. She needed to leave it. Walk away. Enjoy her life.

Pushing up to an upright position, tiredness had made her decision. She had let it. The rest of the weeds could wait. The flower bed looked much better. One more day of work and it would maybe be done. Was that how it would be with him? If she just kept at it day after day, would the work be done. The work of her mind releasing?

Deliberately making her way over the rock barrier to her home, she knew that even in her garden, the work would never truly be done. Why would that be any different in her heart? Sadly, smiling with a smile that didn’t spread to her eyes, she knew it could be better. She could let the responsibilities that weren’t hers go. The choices he was making. The thinking in his head. The attitude he wore. She didn’t need to hang on. But how does a mother do what she needs to do when for months and even years she has been doing it all wrong? Climbing the stairs to her porch, she lets herself in with a quiet click of the door behind her. She knows. She knows what to do. One day. One thought. One weed at a time.

Casting the whole of your care [all your anxieties, all your worries, all your concerns, once and for all] on Him, for He cares for you affectionately and cares about you watchfully. [Ps. 55:22.]

1 Peter 5:7 AMPC

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