Psalm 10

Psalm 10

What is a weed?

I know them well, for they have risen up around me, surrounding me as though I were an invaluable treasure to be stored in some leafy fortress. Their branches reach in every way, some to keep hold of me while others allow their tendrils to leech outward, to feel for invaders. Little do they realize I am the invader, the conquering hero returning home, once filled with shame but now bursting with joy at the light that shines within.

They have overgrown this once-beautiful garden, believing themselves impervious to the hand of justice. They arrogantly believe they can scale the fence and link arms across the path, impeding the progress of anyone racing towards the true beauty in this place. They seem to think their lives are of great import and their rapid growth deserving of respect, when in fact they have simply seized upon my passivity and sown chaos in their shallow roots. They fill the air with their poisonous offspring, hoping to further drown the beauty of this garden in their devilish arrogance. Any shoots of beauty that begin to reach skyward must wage war with these fiendish chimeras, and I am saddened by their power.

Should they not have died, drown out by the beauty of this place? Should not the sun have punished them with its withering heat, forcing them to expend every last resource on survival until they shriveled in the face of its overwhelming power? Could not the dirt itself have refused to shelter their disdainful roots and invading seed? Was not the path inhospitable enough to reject the invasion of such horrid creatures?

I feel as though any beauty within this garden should have had the power to rise up in the name of all that is good and stomp the life out of the weeds that dwell in the sunlight and shadows, but instead they have overcome any difficulty and swarmed the life in this garden. In my forgetfulness, it appears as though God has forgotten this place to, refusing to tend to it in my stead and allowing chaos to prevail in a place where once, only beauty had reigned.

But as the weeds sail over the fence I remember that I did not return to this place on my own accord. Whatever led me back to this once-innocent place, now overgrown with rampant weeds, did not originate in myself but rather was a gift from God, inspiration to come back and tend to the beauty, to the things in this world that last, that truly matter. My return was not happenstance; God has led my feet to return to the home of beauty within my soul, and my vocation is now to tend to such a place. The hope that now dwells in this garden of my soul is not my own, but rather hope that God has planted there, and in this moment I now see another rose beginning to poke forth from the ground. All that is beautiful comes not from within, but from God. The urge to yank these awful pests from the ground, and the strength to do so, is not mine but God’s, and it is with delight that I continue my way down the path, decapitating those unlucky foes who believed they could withstand the power of God within me. The reign of terror in this place is no more, and justice prevails as order reigns in this garden of my soul.