I am slowly learning to make peace with posting my thoughts infrequently. Perhaps this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. When the beginning of posts remain hidden in the draft pile, it’s easy to consider them as discarded thoughts. Now I see them staying unearthed because they haven’t finished percolating. Often the person I am at the time of pressing publish is not residing in the same place as when I first tapped along the keyboard. The words remain true and I don’t want to bury them because although I have taken a few steps further on the path, it is only a few feet.
Early in April, I hired Caleb to help me deal with the weed issue in our yard. Carl was committed elsewhere and I needed some built-in accountability and company.
I suppose most people don’t enjoy weeding, it’s the after results which beckons even sore muscles to dance.
Caleb and I assumed our positions along the fence line of our driveway to deal with the tangled assortment of foliage. My hope was to clear the weeds, spiff up the soil and plant sunflower seeds to whisper the promise of a summer full of glory.
At first glance, the dirt appeared possessed with an assortment of stray grass, clover and bluebells. But once we moved farther down the fence, there was evidence of the ground cover our neighbor had planted along his side of the fence. The longer I pulled, the more problems ensued. Not only had the ground cover found its way under and through the fence but plunged its roots system deep throughout my plot of earth.
As I progressed, I yanked out tendrils of green with gusto. I might even say with some fury. I was locked in a game of tug-of-war and mostly unintentionally disrupted the plants on the other side. What was most unsettling was the amount of muttering taking flight and rage churning within me.
I stood up to stretch and surveyed the backyard. Every season seems to bring gifts from our neighbors’ yard. Fir needles and pine cones, stray branches and fallen leaves endlessly seem to be strewn across our patchy lawn and neglected flowerbeds.
I simply wanna pull my own weeds!
I only wanna deal with MY stuff!
How foolish to experience the makings of a tantrum over inanimate objects.
Yet how illuminating.
It has taken piles of yard debris shoved into cans to reveal the anger in my life, not basic anger but unproductive and unresolved anger. Anger from someone else’s weeds growing outside their confines. Anger which has risen from all the many unwanted intruders which cross into my self-imposed life boundaries.
I don’t consider myself an angry person. Aren’t angry people those who keep their faces tightly pinched into a frown? Surely that isn’t what my public face reveals.
Anger has become an easily accessed emotion. It has slowly and stealthily become my go-to response. It’s not tears or even pouting. It’s not bouts of depression although it is sometimes involves eating whatever emotion I am trying not to explore.
Anger is like a place card set on a table for a guest yet to be invited. Anger takes the place of what you have not allowed a seat at your table. It could be fear, lack of control, sadness, depression, discouragement or any other emotion that is eclipsed by anger and rage. Anger settles right below our subconscious, waits until its ready to make an ungraceful entrance. Anger leans on the horn and abandons once you remember there are no tinted windows. It is consistent in humbly making us regret our responses. We understandable avoid examining anger as it makes us feel ashamed.
Nothing gets everyone’s attention like anger.
I am trying to not panic when anger arrives. I am looking at the upside of anger and seeing it as a teacher and not my undoing. I have viewed each day as a sprint from beginning to end and haven’t allowed myself precious time to break down each heartache, struggle, disappointment, dream deferred or ended. I forced a steady supply of weeds farther and farther into the depths of its receptacle. I hoped like my actual weeds that by setting them at the curb to be carried away every week, they would cease to exist when in reality they re-seeded and multiplied.
It’s the reason my journals are barren. Blogging has fulfilled part of my need for expression but the majority of my thoughts needs to be worked out with ink between hardbound covers and not on a screen.
My responses to loved ones have contained heavy usage of the word “fine”. I need to give better answers and my people deserve to hear them.
I have chosen the conversations I have wanted to have with God. I have kept my words tightly reined instead of loosening my tongue with abandon.
I am not a tether ball on a string being whipped back and forth by every outside force seeking to keep me from the center pole.
I am the pole and God is wrapping His presence around me no matter which direction the prevailing winds blows. God’s string of protection and love is tightly coiled around me when I need it most and loosens so I can avail myself to others.
My friends, are you erupting over the most basic annoyances of life?
Pay attention to your anger.
Take an inventory of what might be the root of your rage and what it is
attempting to bury.
You might discover more weeds than you envisioned. Examine one at a time
and carefully allow your mind to attach the proper emotion with each memory.
Weeding is hard, back-breaking and knee-aching work. Weeding requires time and repeated effort. I didn’t plant the sunflower seeds during that weed-pulling, rage-filled day. In a matter of weeks, more weeds grew to replace the cleared section of land. In fact, they were numerous and large.
I’m back to weed pulling and less muttering.
Care to pull some weeds with me?