Lots of labored breathing

My backyard is a mess; years of neglect combined with an "organic" mindset have created a minefield of cockroaches, old trash, and layers of dead grass. I've been going through it a little bit at a time. There is something so therapeutically cathartic about hacking away at the dirt and tearing out weeds.

I was on my hands and knees today in mud trying to dig an old root out. There is something on my hands now that won't completely wash off. The root is still in the ground.

Sometimes I suffer for change and growth. I work my butt off trying to make my life pretty and manageable, but in the end, life does what it wants no matter how hard I work, even when I'm up to my elbows in mud.


I used to want to always be in a restful quiet space in my mind. I thought that guaranteed that I was right with God.

But to live in the world is to live in a discordant place, full of chaos and unpredictability. It is unwise and naive to think that we can clean it up at the end of every day. Sometimes things stay messy. Actually, life is always messy. To think otherwise is to live with blinders, rose-colored glasses, etc.

I'm hoping that this time will pass and that life won't always be as laborious as it is right now, but I know that I have mere moments of tranquility to look forward to, not years. Life is hard, and long, and I am human, and flawed.

Hang in there.