for when you are digging up roots
We had lived in this new house for less than six months. Walls had been painted, furniture set in place, and decor was somewhat coming together. Plenty was still left to do but considering decorating, revamping, and freshening up my home has a significantly high rank on my lists of favorite things, that is a job that is delightfully unending.
The yard we inherited is beautifully green with spans of open grass suitable for all things sports that three boys fine appealing. There are also private set aside spots for a soon to be coming chair, the perfect spot for spring and fall reading. A variety of little spaces give an illusion of rooms in the wide open space where yard games are played, water balloons filled, birds visit feeders, berries picked, or trees climbed depending on in which section you find yourself.
My greatest challenge will not only be adding pretty flowering color but also to not destroy this green haven that has been around for decades. I am not nearly as handy in the outside home world as I am on the inside. Vision is never a problem, but the results can end up a little brown and crispy more often than I would like.Although most of the spots out of our doors are ones that I love there was another that stuck out every time I stood on the porch and glanced around the yard. It cried out for help, or maybe I was crying out to help it, because staring front and center in my view were 30 year old boxwood bushes.
It is a mystery to when my hate/hate relationship with these bushes began, but ever since childhood I would stare at these boxy things cornering curbs, lining up on house fronts, and blocking fences and scowl at their trimmed shape. Maybe in the elaborate garden of an English manor they have their place but in every home I have lived as an adult they are on the list to go.
One Sunday afternoon while the boys were resting and Zach and I were feeling our Sabbath rest needed to be more active of body to help quiet the spirit, we began tackling the task of ripping out those eye sores of mine. We spent little more than an hour trimming, digging, pulling, and then hauling away. In little more than an hour this spot that had occupied my line of sight was left clear of debris and ready to bear something new in its space.
In little more than an hour God granted me a milestone moment. A day where my heart was changed, and I saw more of what He was doing, what he had done. A day where so many struggles and prayers were whisked away and answered as pieces came together in my head and heart.
In one afternoon, I learned four fundamental truths at the exact same time...
On October 4, 2015, one of my milestone days, I was given the gift of being able to completely forgive, submit to the command to love another even when the world would tell me not to, and just as that space was now cleared and ready for new growth, so was my heart ready to completely heal. It can still take time, just as it can for you. Weeds can pop up when the right care is not being taken but Hope remains as the promise of new mercies is ever present and the Divine Gardener is a much better care taker than I.
This is the last of this three part series of days and dates, joys and sorrows, milestones and newness. I hope at some point my story and my words drifted away and you saw your own in it's stead.
I'm praying for you, pray for me.