A couple of days ago I was pulling weeds in one of my flower beds. That kind of activity leaves the mind to wander, to think about all sorts of possibilities, flit in countless directions. Working with nature, rescuing flowers from the weeds that would choke them, is a satisfying (though back-breaking) task, but I find it hard to keep my mind on that task only. As my mind wandered, it took many a turn.

While I was stooped, stalking and then pulling the different weeds, I began to think of the weeds in my heart that needed pulling as well. Although I can’t physically reach in and pull one out by its roots inside my heart like I can in the flower bed, I can consciously work to remove those “weeds” that keep the “flowers” in my heart from growing to their full potential. Removing the proverbial weeds from inside of me might at least allow the better parts of me to remain and not get choked out, the way the weeds in my flower bed want to crowd out my flowers.

As I kept at the repetition of finding, reaching, pulling, discarding, I continued to think of what kind of weeds I might be harboring inside myself. During Lent I participated in two studies geared toward preparing for Easter, and in a religious, spiritual sense, I had been working on growing more aware of my blessings while also growing more attentive to God. Certainly anytime we work outside, whether it’s pulling weeds or planting flowers, whether it’s feeding birds or watering thirsty hanging baskets, we feel closer to nature, and most of the time, closer to God (or whoever/whatever we call our higher being). In my awareness I couldn’t help think about the mission I was on that day, the one of pulling the weeds, pulling out the undesirables from my flower bed in order to let the desirables, the flowers, survive and flourish.

Isn’t that what we do when we rid ourselves of weeds that live inside our hearts? What kind of weeds do we harbor, that might need “weeding” from our very existence? Is it ill feelings toward a friend or relative? Is it a hurt or disappointment we need to let go? Is it a certain arrogance or pride we need to get over and live without? Getting rid of these personal weeds, or others like them, might allow the good in us, the parts of us that need to survive, grow and flourish to do just that.

During this Lenten season, perhaps it’s a good idea to do some weeding inside ourselves as we go about our lives weeding our flower beds or doing whatever else we do. While we’re at it, we might try also adding some mulch to both the flower beds and ourselves. What can we use as mulch for ourselves? What can we add into our lives to prevent those internal weeds from sprouting again? How about time with family or friends? How about quiet meditation to give us time away from the noise of the world? How about time spent in prayer (if that’s your thing)? Because people are so different, each of us must decide for ourselves what we can do to grow as a person the way our different plants and flowers grow in their beds, pots, or planters. How many times have we seen the suggestion to “bloom where you’re planted”? Getting rid of our own weeds will help that to happen, help us to bloom as the people we’re meant to be.

Happy Easter and Happy Weeding!

There are days when the sky is blue and the birds are singing and the sun is shining and children are playing. There are days when the wind chimes sing in a soft breeze while the aroma from a grill wafts its way toward hungry noses waiting impatiently. There are days when families are laughing while precious, newborn babies are crying their first breath into our world. These are the days when everything falls into place even when we aren’t noticing, when we eat healthy, get some exercise. These are the days when all the socks come out of the dryer.

These days need to be chronicled, recorded, saved like a treasure to hold now and then, to remember when the other days come. Those other days when gray clouds cover the sky, when the sun has taken a day off, when rain is falling, and no one is playing or laughing or grilling. Those other days when nothing falls into place, when the only people you see are the ones you’d rather not, when everything coming out of your mouth is the wrong thing to say, when everything eaten is unhealthy, and when half the socks refuse to leave the dryer and have hidden somewhere that only other clothes can see.

May you have many more days with blue skies than rainy ones, and may all your socks agree to follow each other out of your dryer on cue.

Insomnia, the inability to sleep, the most unwanted companion in the night. Tonight that visitor comes to me. I pulled the short straw without ever knowing. I lost the bet without ever knowing I was in the game. I am the chosen one, chosen to have no respite from the day. I will be denied sleep. Maybe someone, somewhere, is getting a good night’s sleep solely because I’m not. Is that how the world works? Does the universe operate as in “Those Who Walk Away From Omelas” where someone suffers so all can be happy? Certainly my insomnia can’t be compared to the suffering in that story, and yet I feel that it should be my turn to be sleeping, peacefully oblivious, my mind allowed to shut down and shut off for a few hours. Insomnia not only robs me of sleep; it sentences my mind to ceaseless thought. Like a 24-hour news channel, my mind reports my news only to me. All night. Also, like a 24-hour news channel, it repeats often, so that some of the thoughts scrolling through my brain scroll again and again. Yes, I have reporting, and I also have a scroll bar, or at least it seems that way. Such is my weary mind so bent on crowding me with news that it’s filling up empty time with coverage of events past, some good and some bad, and then events to come, so that I may spend part of the night with my old friend Anxiety, too. What a pair, Insomnia And Anxiety;I think they must always travel together. They work for the same imp who steals souls by stealing sleep.

My lids are heavy, and my eyes are tired. My body aches from fatigue, but my own personal cable channel (the one in my head) refuses to quiet. No matter how much my body may scream for relief, it can’t drown out the anchorman/woman in my head.

Will I drift off by dawn? My husband sleeps soundly right next to me. I find myself grateful that he, at least, is resting. By the time his alarm shouts its hideous sound, my mind will finally run out of news, and fatigue will win over insomnia. I’m most grateful that I won’t rise to an alarm in a few hours. I’ve been here before….I’ve been here when a sleepless night was followed by a hard morning to rise.

Perhaps if I put down the computer one more time, click off my lamp one more time, and put my head on the pillow, I will drift off to sleep. I’m willing to try. I’ll hope now that the dog or dear husband doesn’t begin to snore when I do…..

Today I was at school, substituting where I once taught. It was a math class, and I’m an English teacher, so there wasn’t much I could do but hand out the practice test. I watched them work. I watched the concentration on most of their faces, and the defeat on some of the others. I even saw disregard some of the time, but with my teaching background I knew that the disregard was a false bravado for fear of failure.

As I thought about that fear of failure, I began thinking about things that we fear at one time or another, and I thought about what would happen if we let fear stop us too many times. There would be fewer marriages and fewer children. There’d be fewer promises made and, of course, fewer kept. There would be fewer risks taken, so people might drive less, surely fly less, and what would we miss because of it? I know if I’d let my fear of traveling alone to half a world away rule me, I would never have seen where Daughter #2 and her family had made their (temporary) home in Malaysia. If I’d let the fear of homesickness stop me, I never would have moved halfway across our country long ago as a newlywed only married a month. Daughter #1 would be a Louisiana baby instead of a California girl, although to her it doesn’t matter. We moved home when she was still in diapers.

I’m sure we all have our own list of fears and triumphs over them. What opportunities are missed by fear of the unknown? It’s a question to be pondered. After all, fear isn’t going anywhere. There are fears coming that I will face. The future guarantees me I will be afraid some of the time. Fear comes in all forms and shapes, whether fear about our health or fear for our children. We all deal with fear. The question isn’t whether there will ever be something to make us fearful. The question is how will we face those fears.

I want to think that as I’ve aged, I’ve become more accepting of taking calculated risks, more accepting of trusting life, trusting myself. trusting God. I can only hope the next time something fearful comes my way, I can deal with it as a true veteran and put it in its place.

For the students with a fear of failure, stop letting the fear keep you from trying. Stop letting the fear win.

Procrastination

Years ago when I first started teaching, I read or heard somewhere that gifted people/children are great procrastinators, and that the smarter a person is, the more he/she procrastinates. Since then I’ve joked about it from time to time, but I wonder tonight as I sit here with deadlines to meet and deadlines that have come and gone un met, if that just might be true? It would be wonderful if I could think my procrastination was due to some supreme giftedness, some intelligence that I haven’t realized in myself, rather than inherent laziness. Lazy is such an ugly word, isn’t it? “Lazy” summons images of the unwashed, unzipped, unbrushed, and plain undone. “Procrastination”, on the other hand, brings a thought of laziness but with a purpose, a putting off while doing other things instead, a busyness that can’t be interrupted in order to do that thing I can’t bring myself to do. In procrastinating I’m not sitting idly by with my feet up eating bon bons. Oh no, I’m inventing things to do so that I won’t have to do the object of my avoidance. It’s quite tiring, really, all this busyness to keep from doing that one little (or not-so-little) task that has become the center of my universe for a little while as I scurry from hither to yon dodging the settling down and the sighing – lots of sighing – that will be necessary to complete it. A lazy person wouldn’t go to all this trouble to type all these words only to have a blog entry, would she? Even with dishes unstacked and bills unpaid and clothes unwashed and papers ungraded, laziness wouldn’t be thinking, processing, typing. . . surely that’s procrastination instead. Surely I’m smart enough to know the difference.