Worth the Itch

Uncovering

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s yard work. I mean, I still have nightmares about having to help my mother weed under those ubiquitous, disgusting, overgrown juniper bushes that were the bane of every 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, 1990s landscaping plan.

Whoever decided that junipers would be a perfect “filler” bush for maximum cover and minimum upkeep obviously didn’t actually DO the yard work.

The horrible, itchy rash that invariably scorched my forearms as I had to stretch under the prickly branches to snag every last errant crab grass stem nagged me as I lay in bed scratching the stinging red splotches. I despised wearing gloves and long sleeves in the radiating sunshine – there’s nothing like the feel of the sun on your overwintered skin and cool earth under your fingernails – so my hands were red and inflamed for days after our weeding tasks were done.

There is, however, a certain satisfaction in seeing a patch of fresh, earthy brown garden, totally weed-free, with spacious beds made ready for the flowers which have been struggling toward the sunshine.

Oh. The. Flowers.

The value we gain from uncovering the beds and freeing them from the invaders constantly threatening to usurp growing rights far outweighs the discomfort of the dreaded cleanup.

Haven for Growth

I noticed another thing, as well – under those dread juniper fronds, a whole tiny world had opened before my eyes, full of living things free of the incubating blanket of debris which had been delaying their growth, now splendid in their minute little world.

Fast forward to early May. As I was cleaning out my front flower beds – I was lazy last fall and didn’t bother to hack off the dead flower stems or dredge the excess fall humus – I began to ponder the worth of the three inches of decomposing leaves matted to the dirt.

Are you ready for a One-Minute Science lesson?

The leaves nurture the tree, then die and drift to the ground, creating a blanket of protection for the plants as they grow under the shadow of the once-living. The leaves feed the decomposers, which feed the soil, which feeds the sleeping undergrowth, which awaits its perfect time to awaken and seek sunlight.

My lack of action last fall had actually become a boon to the wakening plants. The mulch of leaves, tangled stems, and dead grass had actually provided warmth and protection from the harsh winter weather, so that as I raked out piles of detritus and twigs, I happily discovered that the daisies, yarrow, sage, and even the succulents had not only survived, but were eager to explode into their spring growth spurt.

Because the gunky muck had created a haven for later growth, the plants were ready when their time came.

Photo-What??

Consider the implications of this cycle of life-to-death-to-life for our lives as always-growing and maturing humans.

Through a fascinating and complicated process, photosynthesis takes advantage of sunlight and produces growth in the myriad plants which surround us and gives life to an otherwise dry and barren landscape.

In the same way, our past experiences give birth – through an equally fascinating and complicated process – to our individual identities and futures.

When photosynthesis has done its work, the plant dies — but not before expending its last gasp of energy to produce and cast off the seeds which will become the next generation of growing things. The refuse of this dying becomes the mulch which covers that next year’s growth.

Fertile Soil

Do you see where I’m going here?

My past, and yours if you think about it, began with innocence — ripe with visions of future successes and glorious experiences.

Then life happened.

Wrong choices, untempered words, decisions made or not made — all of them actions based on fear and frustration — threatened to undermine the plans I’d had as a child. But what I saw as rot, decay, and decomposition was actually new growth, creating the fertile soil for my dreams, goals, beliefs, and challenges.

We survive our past, sometimes with grace, other times with regret or bitterness. The one common factor in all of it is that, as each experience lived, every challenge overcome, every failure endured, even the tragedy we endure, fades into what lies behind us, it casts its seeds into the fertile soil of our future. There the seeds wait patiently, until our life situation is primed for them to germinate into reflection and wisdom for making different choices and for seeking the lesson to remember and act upon.

Instead of destroying my future, that ‘ugly growth’ drove me to persevere and create beauty under the mulch of those dead experiences. In their dying, they generated seeds of opportunity and grace for the new life which would spring up from what I thought was dead and spoiled.

Incubating

If we let it, our past can easily determine who we are and the value we see in that identity. But remember the layer of dead leaves that sheltered the growing flowers as they waited for their proper time to blossom?

The sometimes-ugly mulch of our life experiences has been incubating and developing our true selves. We can choose to seek the warmth and light of our true worth, found only in the One Who designed our lives to be the growing medium for producing nourishing fruit in a world hungry for truth, wisdom, and value.

Don’t wait until the litter of your past collects and threatens to choke out the new growth of your blossoming voice. Roll up your sleeves. Clear away the mulch.

In the fertile soil underneath, the seedlings of your amazing future have been patiently waiting to grow from tiny sprouts into a lush and fragrant garden of renewed hope and vigor which will fuel your passions and help you accomplish your purpose.

Trust me: your scorched limbs will be worth the itch.