Hard-core weeding


It’s official: four dorm buildings and four roommates later, sanity is intact (mostly). In fact, I’m rockin’ the dorm life. I’ve learned you can fit two whole wardrobes in one room—not to mention skis, popcorn makers, and cellos. You can cook surprisingly appealing meals in a microwave (but don’t set off the fire alarm. Just don’t).  And the best way to make new friends? Bake chocolate chip cookies in the floor kitchen.

However, I’ve also learned what you can’t have in a dorm: pets. Okay, you can have fish. I remember well Otto, the Beta belonging to the hockey player across the hall freshman year. He was a nice little fellow. Sadly, Otto froze to death, and I got stuck fish-sitting his replacement every weekend after. Tragedy aside, would you want a depressed fish staring you down as you write papers? Probably not. But plants—plants are the perfect pseudo-pet.  

I admit my plants may have gained a little too much personality. Just ask my roommate—before we shared a room, she referred to her shrubs using normal terms: "This is my mint plant." One year later, every potted pet our window sill has a very specific title: Eunice, 'Ditus, and Englebert, in that order (Monty the mint plant left us last year, RIP).  

Unfortunately, in between exams, concerts, and work, it’s easy to forget to water them for days at time. When I do remember, I’m often horrified by the sight of my aloe plant. 'Ditus seems to think its purpose in life is to reproduce as fast as possible. I’m not a gardener by any means, but at some point (usually when it starts turning purple) I am faced with the unpleasant task of uprooting an army of tiny aloe minions.

It’s for a good cause, of course. The aloe plant will not thrive as long as the shoots are stealing nutrients from the soil and crowding out the root system. But the process isn’t pleasant—the painful sound of tiny plants being ripped up makes me cringe, and it leaves ugly craters in the soil. 

Have you ever pondered the fact that God takes care of you like that (except more competently)? This year has brought a lot change. In the past few weeks alone, I struggled to keep up with a world that seemed to be doing somersaults. When you have only sought to do right and everything is still going wrong, it's confusing. When you pray for someone but never see results, it's discouraging. When God removes a person you love deeply from your life, it hurts. It leaves craters. 


Through the pain, however, I had a realization. Maybe those emotional craters, as ugly as they may seem, are a blessing. Maybe God wants to fill them with something better. Maybe that something is Himself. 

God is love. He proved that by sacrificing His only Son to a horrible death so we don't have to face eternal death and can have real life (1 John 4:9). Sin is paid for forever, and we are declared righteous and accepted by God the moment we accept that payment in faith (John 5:24, Romans 4:5). And He doesn't just show love—He is love (1 John 4:8). He's unchanging and always in character; therefore, His actions toward us cannot be without our best in mind (Romans 8:36-37).

My experience with the aloe plant made me realize: as much as I care about people and pursuits, even good things can become useless shoots that choke out life. I can think they're necessary for my well-being and the success of everyone around me, but from God's big-picture view, I'm "turning purple"—suffocating spiritually. God is so good that He won't let that happen.

When was the last time you thanked God for doing some hard-core "weeding" in your life? For allowing disappointments and pain? The only way we will ever grow stronger spiritually is if we see our need to depend on God alone. Remember: 

For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord will give grace and glory; no good thing will He withhold from those who walk uprightly. (Psalm 84:11)
 


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