You don’t know you are addicted until you try quitting.
Fasting is hard. I need all the help I can get to stick with it. So, in order to get my fixated mind unglued from whatever I am attempting to eradicate out of MY-life so I can squeeze a speck of God-life in, I go back to gardening. My yard is always there, waiting for me, always ready to embrace me with open arms. It never talks back to me (well, maybe a time or two). There is always ample work available yielding instant results (unlike my parenting). Best of all, I can do it mindlessly. I get on my knees, pull the crabgrass by the roots, and just let my brain wander off wherever it wishes…. I don’t even hear it buzz…
If only there were no weeds. I would be a better gardener… if only there were no weeds. I would be a better gardener… … if only there were no weeds. I would be a better gardener… … IF ONLY THERE WERE NO WEEDS. I WOULD BE A BETTER ?#*&%@# GARDENER…
I am jerked out of my mindless state, wondering who the heck yelled that last sentence. I suspiciously checked out the neighbor power-walking her dog on the other side of the street, but she seemed an unlikely candidate.
Since nobody else is around, I decide, instead of playing the blame game, I am going to take ownership of this random, isolated, single little thought.
If only there were no weeds, I would be a better gardener. True or false?
Well…
I realize part of me believes the statement is true. The part that likes to deny the reality. For, reality, even my favorite gardener Tom MacCubbin would agree, is - Where there is a garden, there are weeds. Like it or not.
I step back, frowning at my lawn for being so blunt.
Where else in my life am I in equal denial about the fact of weeds?
Suddenly, an onslaught of barking thoughts jump at me, having been hidden around some shady corner inside my brain waiting to be released:
If there were no temptations, I would be a better Christian… I was actually a pretty good parent before we had kids. If there were no immature, selfish, SINFUL people in our church, it would…
The whining, complaining, howling dogs have broken the rickety fence in the back of my brain and took the full stage, front and center.
You don’t know you are addicted until you try quitting.
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