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Every spring, those of us who live in Plant Hardiness Zone 5 eagerly celebrate the end of the long, cold winter by tending to our flower beds and planting our gardens. Shades of gray give way to full color. The sun warms the earth and the rain falls, so the perennials awaken and seeds germinate and sprout. Now it’s July and we’ve tasted sweet strawberries, and our other fruits and vegetables are halfway to harvest.
The weeds are wide awake too. They were small in the spring, but they are bigger now. Our springtime zeal for gardening may have waned a bit. It’s hot outside.
Nature offers us many spiritual lessons, and working in the garden affords us time for contemplation. I have learned much from the weeds in my garden. Weeds entered the world hand in hand with sin; they are a picture of sin. They grow everywhere, even where we didn’t plant them. Sin grows in our hearts, cropping up in unexpected places. Weeds often grow faster than the good plants. Unfortunately, sin often grows faster than holiness, choking out the fruit of our lives.
Recently, the weeds in my flower bed got out of control. I rationalized: “At least they are tall, large weeds. It will be easy to pull them out, and once I do, the bed will look nice.” But I encountered a problem. The roots held on to large clumps of good soil, leaving a divot. It was difficult to pull them out without leaving this scar. I took the lesson to heart. Don’t let sins become deeply entrenched habits, or they will leave a scar in our lives. I resolved, by God’s power, to treat sin as my grandpa handled weeds. It was said that he would stand by the garden with a hoe, ready to cut off those little weeds as soon as they popped up.
Gardening can be convicting, but mostly I am overwhelmed by God’s beauty and grace when I am on my knees, digging in the dirt. I feel small when I inspect lettuce leaves, knowing that He fashioned this food for our nourishment. I marvel that on the third day of creation, God placed a seed of its own kind in each plant and tree, setting in motion the propagation of all vegetation. Then I bite into a tomato and try to count the numerous seeds, and I see a picture of God’s generous grace. I observe the layers of a peony, and I know that I can’t even draw a realistic picture of this flower. Yet God has sculpted this living, growing piece of art.
Our lives in their natural state are like the gray shades of winter—cold, drab, and lifeless. But when the Sun of Righteousness rises with healing in His wings, His light illumines our lives, and His heat warms our hearts. The Holy Spirit makes us alive. Jesus Christ pulls the weed-sins from our lives and casts them into the depths of the sea (Mic. 7:19). Then He sets our feet on a rock and makes our steps secure. Let’s praise His holy name.