Welcome to Big Old Goofy World . . . a place where I can share my thoughts, hopes, and dreams about this rock that we live on and call home.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Dandelions, Yard Work, and Lamenting

The rain finally stopped Wednesday afternoon.  Yesterday I finally got to mow the lawn for the first time since last autumn--it needed it.  So, yesterday and today was a day for yard work.  My favorite thing in the whole wide world--yeah, right!

As I was mowing the yard, I noticed that there sure were a lot of weeds and dandelions.  Which made me come to the conclusion that if it were not for the weeds and the dandelions I would have no yard to mow at all.  For that reason alone I need to be thankful for both.  Once you cut the heads off the dandelions no one can tell whether or not it is grass or weeds.  For that I am thankful.

A weed, which a dandelion is classified for most people, is just a plant that happens to be in the wrong place. I have a lot of plants that happen to be out of place.  It does not bother me as much as it seems to bother the rest of the neighborhood.  I think that the dandelion has a pretty flower and looks wonderful against the green grass.  My neighbors think otherwise, and because I want to be a good neighbor I have to take the attitude that dandelions are a nuisance and must be destroyed.

Thus it was that I started the yard work yesterday with a vengeance.  First, I mowed.  This takes a while to do--despite having a very small yard--because Maddie the Boxer wants to play Frisbee.  Every ten to fifteen steps I get to stop and throw the Frisbee.  Makes for a longer task, but it sure make her happy.  So, I mowed.  Then I got out the weed spray and began spraying.  Last year I took Round-up to the dandelions and made a major mess to my yard that I am still paying for this year.  My neighbors thought that I had some sort of blight in the yard, but it was just my stupidity.  My expectation was that today the weeds would be dead, but they just seem to laugh at my feeble attempt.  They thrive!  Damn weeds!

I actually enjoy yard work.  I enjoy mowing the yard--it is a sort of game for me.  I think of it as giving the earth a haircut--not a great one, but a haircut none the less.  I don't mind weeding once I get going, but I have found that Round-Up sure makes short work of weeding. The idea of yard work, especially since it involves two dogs, is not high on my list of objectives.  The scooping the poop alone makes me just cringe at having to do yard work.  Maybe if I could teach my two dogs how to clean up after themselves I would be more apt to get excited about yard work.  But . . . I do it.  I do it to keep my neighbors happy.

I appreciate dandelions for the beauty that they represent.  Who among you would disagree that the dandelion is not a beautiful plant--as long as it is not in your yard?  The problem with dandelions is that they like to seed and then spread themselves out to wherever they can go.  So far I think I have now infected most of the yards to the left and right of our house.  We are doing good!

So, here is what I think.  I think that if God had wanted grass to be two inches tall, God would have stopped it at two inches tall.  God wants it to grow.  It is we, humans, that seem to think that it should be two inches tall.  Me, well I kind of like the natural look.  Also, if God did not want us to appreciate the dandelions and weeds, God would not have put them in our yards.  That is not real popular in my neighborhood.  My deep down desire is to to either let my yard go, or to turn it under and pour green concrete,  At least with green concrete it gives the illusion that I care.

In the meantime I will do whatever it is that I have to do to keep the neighbors semi-happy. I will mow my grass.  I will spray my weeds.  But what I really want to do is to spread the "good news" of God's creation.  What better way of spreading the new than:

Evangelism at its simplest.  May you enjoy the beauty of this wonderful weather that we are experiencing in this Montana Spring or wherever you may be.

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