I’m sitting in my chair in the living room, watching as Jim mows the yard. My yard…my domain. My pride and joy. I mean, I know it’s just dirt…grass… trees…plants…gardens…but it’s my responsibility and I don’t take it lightly.
I love to walk our little corner acre, our Pohl Farm, watching the birds and butterflies enjoy what God created and lets me care for. It’s not work to me…it’s brings me such happiness to do it.
But here I sit…instead of being grateful…I’m not. I’m like a petulant child trying to will my own way. I’m crabby…I’m pouty…I’m mad.
And I just realized that the fact that I cannot mow…or at this point, hardly even walk around my yard…is not the issue here.
It’s about control…again.
Control is like my evil twin that lurks in the shadows, waiting until I’m distracted enough, then dashes in to take my place. It’s tiring, even exhausting…but still I allow it in.
As a parent, a child, a spouse, a friend…I want so much for all the people in my life. I want them happy and healthy, safe from all of the ills of the world. But…
Not only is this not my responsibility…it’s not within my power to provide these things. I can care for, to the best of my ability, those around me. But I am not able to make them safe or prevent things from happening to them. I don’t have the key to their happiness.
As I watch again, I see a man who just put in a 70 plus hour workweek…and will again starting tomorrow …spending his one day off carefully mowing around my flowers…watering our gardens…spraying weeds in the driveway…and giving me that little head flip as I watch him do it. My yard…our yard has never looked lovelier than it does at this moment.
God, thank you for your lessons and reminders of grace and patience as you reach your naughty child and pull her once again into your loving forgiveness.