It’s full-on springtime in Oklahoma. That means that the Bermuda grass is still struggling to wake from its dormancy while the chickweed and dandelions celebrate our history with their own sort of land run. It’s cool enough at night to be uncomfortable and warm enough in the daytime that one regrets long sleeves.
We go through these spring days with an eye on the horizon—most always to the southwest—for the tornadoes that, though most of us don’t really hide from and prefer to stand out and watch, can rearrange the landscape of our lives and our neighborhoods in mere moments. They come up quick and are gone just the same with nothing but the scars left behind.
I could write about the peer pressure of neighborhoods to keep the grass mowed and the trees trimmed, but suffice it to say that, though unspoken, it is real. Some neighbors are more serious about it than others. I’ve seen at least one neighbor that seems at times to scour the lawn seeking weeds like a dermatologist seeking an odd spot to freeze with their wicked liquid needle.
But in this season of changing colors and budding trees and so many pleasant hours of outdoor time available, a recognition has crept in upon me. It’s not breaking news or a surprising observation at all. It’s pretty simple
The weeds come easy.
They come easy and they can grow like fabled Jack’s beanstalk. And they may even have some pretty little flowers on them… while they choke out the stuff you have been cultivating.
Why bother to write about this? Fair question indeed. Bear with me a moment.
I’m in a season of waiting for some things to take root. Over the past year or so, I’ve sown a lot of figurative seed in prayer, in conversation, in research, in pleading with God and with friends and family, in the surprisingly uncomfortable work of dreaming. I assure you that I’m not seeking your pity, but simply sharing what I’m learning in this strange season of life.
As the journey has continued to unfold, it has been really frustrating to see glimmers of possibility spring up overnight only to recognize that the substance is not really there—grand ideas that are, upon closer inspection, allergen-rich, ugly, and even prickly.
On my morning walk I was reminded yet again… the weeds come easy.
This observation can be applied to relationships that seem to spring up and are very quickly quite wide but have no depth. It can be seen in most of the offerings of fast food joints which perpetually over-promise and under-deliver. There are, no doubt, countless other instances to say the same thing.
The weeds come easy.
Pastor James wrote in is treatise on practical New Testament faith about the importance of patience:
Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains.James 5.7
The farmer waits. But why? I think it is because, as a rule, the farmer is more in touch with his partnership with the earth than most of us ever come to be. He knows that, while he can prepare the ground and sow the seed and water the field perhaps and keep a close eye on the state of his crop, there is nothing that makes it grow faster than it grows.
The weeds come easy, but they don’t bear any fruit. The fruitful harvest only comes in its appointed time. There is no rushing it. There is no short-cutting the process that simply takes time.
So here I sit, continuing to seek the fruit that will only come when it is time.
The weeds come easy. But I will wait for something much better.
Maybe you needed to remember that too.
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