I Want to Be a Weed

The people that occupied the house we live in before us were...how shall I say this...somewhat negligent when it came to caring for the yard.  If not taking proper care of your lawn were a crime they would be serving a life sentence.  With no chance for parole.  Ever.  There are weeds everywhere.  In the flower beds, in the bushes, under the trees and all throughout the yard.  While I have not conducted a scientific survey I am sure there are more weeds in the yard than grass.  Somewhere, Frederick Olmsted, the great landscape architect, is rolling over in his grave.
I do have to give the previous occupants some credit though.  What they lacked in concern about weeds they easily made up for it their apparent love of weed diversity.  Surrounding our house is a virtual United Nations of weeds.  You name it, we have it.  Every shape and size, color and texture can be found in our quarter acre of weed heaven. 
Sadly, I do not share their love of weeds.  I respect weeds unbelievable ability to multiply at the drop of a hat (even rabbits are jealous).  I am in awe of their capacity to muscle out other plants and take over a yard in less than a season (even the Mob is envious).  But I don't like them.  They wreak too much havoc, are too difficult to control and some of them are down right painful to touch.
As I was gazing upon the weed wonderland that I call a yard it occurred to me, as it has to many a great thinker who has plumbed the intellectual depths of weeds, that they are a lot like the negative things in our lives.  Fear, greed, hatred, anxiety, envy - each requires just a little foothold in souls and soon there is room for nothing else.  These emotions spread quickly, take up all of our time and energy, and they turn our lives into ugly messes.
Still, I wonder if weeds are getting a bad rap.  Is it not possible that positive emotions - love, happiness, generosity, hope - can also be like weeds? Why don't we ever compare these attitudes to those plants that can thrive on very little, transform not only your life/yard but that of your neighbor, and keep coming back no matter how hard we try to get rid of them?  Why can't we call the best things in life weeds?  Because Lord knows our society treat them like they were weeds.
Think about it.  Our culture (including politicians and the media of both the left and the right) teaches us to work very hard at uprooting the positive attitudes in our lives and the lives of others.  We are uncomfortable spending too much time with folks who are always happy (especially if they are happy first thing in the morning.  These folks are not only annoying, they are possessed).  We label those who are overly generous "naive."  If your life is defined by unconditional love we call you a hopeless romantic and a sucker.  And woe to the one who always hopes.  They are dreamers and unrealistic.  Be honest, we don't want our lives filled with too many of these positive traits.  We treat them like weeds.  We put a lot of time  in trying to eradicate them from our lives.  Just like we are taught.
What if we just let the weeds do their thing and grow.  Instead of trying to make our lives look like a manicured lawn how about letting the weeds of joy and happiness and love and hope overrun everything. That is what Jesus did.  Granted, he was treated like a weed, but guess what - there is nothing stronger, more resilient and just plain beautiful as love, hope and happiness.  Try as we might we can't control them.  They are contagious and unpredictable, just like weeds.  And they are from God.
I will go you one better.  I want to be a weed, to spread all that is good and wonderful into the lives of other people.  I know, not everyone will appreciate me or what I am doing.  Like Jesus, I may suffer the same fate as most weeds.  But that is ok.  Because like a weed Jesus keeps coming back with more love and hope and happiness.  I want to be like that.  I want to be a weed.

The Curse of the Silly Bands

For the past six months or so the craze de jure in our neck of the woods has been silly bands.  These are little plastic bracelets that come in an endless variety of shapes (animals, vehicles, faces) and colors.  The fact that when the silly bands are on your arm you can't tell what shape they are is meaningless to kids, many of whom have gone silly for silly bands (sorry, I couldn't resist).  I have seen kid's entire forearms covered with these things.  At a junior high camp this summer I saw girl waiting for the camp nurse.  She had a numbing sensation in her hands and wanted the nurse to tell her what was wrong.  The nurse noticed that this girl's arm was full of silly bands that were cutting into her circulation.  The girl removed the bands, fascinated by the deep groves they left in her skin, and amazed that she could feel her hands again.  It was a miracle!  Such, my friends, is the power of silly bands.
Naturally, my younger kids wanted silly bands.  Truth be told they laid pretty low about silly bands until this past spring.  Then it started - "Everybody has them,"  "But, they are so cool," and my personal favorite from my 2nd grade son, "If I get some then everybody will stop laughing at me."  Right.  I responded, "Dude, if they are laughing at you for not having silly bands then they will laugh at you even if you have them."  My son got one of those cow at a passing train looks on his face.  We headed off to the store to buy some silly bands.
Now, lest you think my wife and I were caving to peer pressure we were very clear with our children - we would buy one package of silly bands.  Just one.  And the two of them had to share the silly bands.  This was a devious plan.  When I was a kid ( I have three siblings) buying one of anything and then expecting all four of us to share it was the kiss of death.  No one was going to be happy and I was banking that my children would feel the same way.  Rather than share the silly bands I was certain they would opt just not to bother and the silly band craze would leave our house in peace.  Like most evil parenting schemes this one failed.  Miserably.  So we began the quest for silly bands.
Store number one - no silly bands.  Store number two - we just sold out.  Store number three - a shipment is due in next week.  By now I am picking up the rancid odor of a scam.  Toy merchants are notorious for hyping a product and then not putting enough of it on the shelves.  Remember Cabbage Patch kids?  People fought over these things, I mean drew blood.  A few years later you could find them at any dollar store.  I start to get the feeling that if we find silly bands they are going to cost us a fortune.  So I try another sure to fail parenting trick - I tell my kids that we can't find any and maybe we should just go home.  A brilliant idea, except my kids are well aware that we have not even begun to exhaust all of the potential silly band outlets.  I really start to dislike silly bands.
By store number four we are not even leaving the vehicle.  My wife makes a recon mission into the retailer.  I am so sure that she will not find them I park on the curb and keep the car running.  So, of course, they have them.  My kids freak.  I am not sure what I feel - relief that we have found silly bands or nausea over what they will cost.  A pack of 24 silly bands sets us back $4.99.  Seems like a lot to me, but not to my children.  Going to school sporting silly bands is priceless.
We go home and I play ref while my son and daughter divide up their spoils.  The next day my son heads off to school proudly wearing dragon themed silly bands.  My daughter is not so lucky.  Her Kindergarten teacher outlawed silly bands in the classroom months ago.  Still, she is content to wear them at home.   That afternoon I pick them up from school.  My son, who started the day with a dozen dragon silly bands now has 9, only one of which is a dragon.  When I ask him what happened he tells me that the kids always trade silly bands.  OK, but why did he have three fewer than before?  Without missing a beat he tells me that some kids just asked if they could have some and so he gave them to them.  Hmmmm.  The next day we are down to five silly bands.  Why?  Well, one kid in class did not have any so my son gave him some.  The following day there are three silly bands on his wrist.  One kid was moving away and my son wanted to give him something to help remember his friends.
My first reaction should have been overwhelming pride.  Here was my boy, the son of not one but two ordained ministers, freely sharing with others.  That is what we taught him to do.  Instead the first thought that cropped into my head was that he was getting ripped off by the other kids.  The second notion was to tell him to stop giving them away because we had just bought the stupid things.  Then it dawned on me - these silly bands were a curse.  Not to my son, but to me.  They were exposing all sorts of contradictions and hypocrisy in my life.  And then I really, really hated silly bands.
There are people in this world who take advantage of others.  I am afraid that my son, with his generous spirit, is going to be an easy target for such thieves.  Yet, I don't want my children living in fear, especially fear of losing stuff.  Somehow I am going to have to teach him to be wise and generous.  Or should it be generous and wise?  Which is more important?  My head tells me wisdom, my heart tells me generosity.  Hopefully he will have both in equal measure.  If not, then I pray that he will never be afraid to be generous.  That to me seems to be the character and nature of God.
I am also aware that my son has taught me a thing or two about generosity.  In his own way he helped strip off layers of mistrust and selfishness that I was not even aware had been accumulating on my spirit.  He guided me back to a place where sharing is more important than possessing.  I am grateful for that.  And I hope to never see another silly band again as long as I live.