Sometimes I Blow It

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It seems like such an innocent thing to pick up the weed and blow the seeds across the yard. They fall to the ground and I hold an empty stem. It's later that the weeds come. They cover the yard, and I see only in hindsight what I have done.

 Sometimes this happens in the yard of my heart. My intentions are innocent -- noble even.

But the activity of blowing turns into a messy yard full of weeds. Of course, it depends on perspective, some would call them flowers. Yet I know that a garden of carefully cultivated roses brings much more beauty to the yard than haphazardly placed dandelions.

The difference is in the planting. I can purposefully plant, water and care for the lovely or I can scatter words, thoughts and ideas that reap a harvest of questionably categorized actions.

Blowing is inevitable---either by my actions or the winds of life. God redeems them and makes the weeds into bouquets offered back to me in grubby hands. They serve their time in the vase on the tabletop. When I blow it, I fall into grace.

Yet I endeavor to spend more time among the lovely in the future. So the lovely spends more time in me.