The days when I have no words, I tend to read other people’s words. Their witty insights usually keep me going. Then I get to my blank page and I try over and over again to string words together into a sentence. I come up unsuccessful every time. I don’t always think in complete sentences.
My conversation with my roommate this morning went like this:
Me: “If I were wearing green today, I would have every primary color on.”
Her: “I don’t even know what primary colors are.”
Sometimes I sit at work and look around hoping that no one will notice that I am googling information about Nutella. Sometimes I sit and stare up at the ceiling and realize that I can feel my heartbeat in my toe. I have never felt my heartbeat in my toe before, but it is kind of cool. Then all of a sudden some emergency alert goes out to the entire office building about an eminent tornado (it is sunny and seventy-one degrees; clear as crystal) and interrupts my daydreaming mind. I decide it is probably for the best.
There are places that exist within myself that I hide from—sometimes even run from. I tend to hide and run because I know that if I face it, it will mean I have to do something about it. It will mean that I can no longer just keep pushing it under a rug. I want to pretend that there’s no there there. But there is, indeed, there. There is the dirty silverware, the clothes bursting out of my closet in an unorganized mess. But there is also the unforgiveness, the bitterness, the hurt and pains. I don’t want them to exist, but they do. They are weeds, and they are overtaking the lawn of my life.
Then I read today: “A weed is only a weed when we don’t like it.”
Obviously I am not going to start liking the messy areas of myself (who likes poison after all?). However, since I know that I see myself how I choose to see myself, I can stop looking at them as weeds, but rather as mercy and grace. God is merciful and gracious, He is giving and, if I let Him, master of my life. Sometimes we think we need to pull the weeds, but I think that we can just enjoy them. Not enjoy them in a five-year-old on a carousal kind of way, but enjoy them as in an I-can-learn-from-them kind of way. Weeds are only weeds when we are not looking at them as flowers.