Weeds. Weeds and childrens.
The foreign exchange students who end up in our little town always say the same thing, "Look at all the brown... look how far you can see..."
Yes, it's true. I live just miles from Meteor Crater, The Petrified Forest, The Painted Desert... there's just dirt and sand and AIR every dang where. and weeds, of course. We can't forget the weeds, which is what I'm here to talk about anyway.
Growing up, I spent my summer mornings pulling weeds in our big family garden. Dad always planted 100 tomato plants, and Mom always swore it would end their marriage. She was only MOSTLY kidding.
The weeds were everywhere. I'm no stranger to weed types in my hometown.
A few days ago, I went outside and pulled weeds. I'm a grown up now, so I don't have my Dad telling me when and where to remove weeds, so I wait until winter. In winter, the weeds are dead. They're yellow and brittle, and I can get rid of them so easily.
But the big ones.
The ones I didn't get rid of when they were small last summer... THOSE ones only give up the top-half of the plant, and the rotted root remains firmly in the ground.
"I'll be back in the spring," it chides.
And I curse it. and kick it.
stupid, stupid weed.
The root will inevitably spring up to a weed again, and if I don't pull it up BY THE ROOT, it will continue to sprout up the SAME WEED again and again and again and again.
And then it's irritating.
And then it's infuriating, and before I know it, I'm brandishing a propane-fueled torch and giving that weed a baptism by FIRE.
My entire life -and especially lately -I've bumped into the same issues over and over again: not quite ready to let my root be plucked. Not quite ready.
One of my weeds lately is not worrying about what others think when it comes to me and God.
I worry about working outside of the home, what others may think of my choice. I feel like I have to defend myself and my situation and MAKE THEM BE OKAY with me.
I worry about what I feel prompted to share in Relief Society, wondering if others are irritated by my talking. I feel like I have to make them be okay with me.
But I don't.
I only need to follow God and be willing to submit to his baptism by blow torch.
(dead camel thorns behind my house)