My ingenious Plan B nixed, my new found identity as the
Great Weed Exterminator,…well, to put it mildly, declared ineffective if not
destructive, I am tumbling from bad to badder, from discouragement into despair.
I mean, capital D Despair.
I have nothing
left.
I am doomed forever.
In the back of my mind, a tiny bug starts buzzing… I am
annoyed and would much rather be left alone to rot. But
the bug keeps on... bugging, for that's what the bugs do. In between the annoying buzzings, I think I
hear something along the lines of despair being a compost pile for real growth.
The counter-intuitive nature of the statement gets me quite
distracted from my rotting-in-the-dungeon-of-doom frame of mind. I latch on it
like a nursing infant.
Despair is the compost pile for real growth… Despair… is
a compost pile… for real… growth…
There is no question that my life resembles a big, stinky
compost pile, indeed. Despair and all. But, real growth?!! And do I even
know what this 'real growth' thing is all about…???
By now, I’ve learned at least one thing. I am hopelessly clueless. I know nothing
about gardening and growing stuff. Except, perhaps, growing multi-colored mold inside
a container of leftover lasagna forgotten in the back of our refrigerator.
I realize I need a big-time
miracle. And the only One I know qualified in this department is… God!
OMG! I am such a loser! I need God to weed my garden! How pathetic is that? HOW pathetic is THAT??!!!
Pathetic or not, I have nowhere else to turn. So, I slump
down on my knees and utter the most sincere prayer I’ve said in a very, VERY
long time:
Ah, LORD God, You who created this amazing world out of nothing, You who give life to the dead, make me a gardener.
Just like that.
When you are at the
bottom, the only way to look is up.
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