It’s raining again.

Not that we’ve had enough rain yet this spring, but I did mow the lawn just today.  It could have waited at least another day or two before taking another growth spurt.

I’m not always careful when I mow.  By that, I mean I don’t look at what I’m cutting down.  Grass is grass when you’re not a connoisseur of fine fescue—or Bermuda—or Augustine. 

Today, I noticed.  What I was mowing—I noticed.

Thousands of maple trees.  The helicopters that crowded the branches of the silver and red maples in early spring (and before that) have gyrated and spun their way down from the heights to be planted in the soil and now have germinated.  The scions of the giant trees in the neighborhood showed great promise.

Alas.  Their promise will never come to fruition.

Many oaks met the same fate.  Cut down in their infancy.  Never to spring from the ground again.

All the labor of the myriad squirrels who have scrabbled and dug their tiny paws into the soil will come to nought.

My sister, who lives nearby, mentioned that she cautioned the fellow who mowed her lawn today to mow around the patches of clover.  It was a nod on her part to the needs of the buzzing little honey bees who are busy gathering nectar and pollen to turn into honey.

I admit I didn’t think of that.  The little white puffy balls and the 3-leaf patterns below them joined the maple and oak trees under the spinning blades.  Probably some 4-leafed clumps kept them company, depriving me of the temporary joy of thinking about good luck they might bring.

There were more—dandelions and wood sorrel, perhaps even a bit of speedwell and some bluets—all fodder for the spinning blades of the big mower as it made mulch of them.

I looked over the expanse of the yard this afternoon and, as if it were my own doing, declared it good.  I do love a neat lawn, even if I don’t worry much about what kind of plant springs up to cover the dirt.

And now, it’s raining again.  If the pouring precipitation weren’t making such a racket on the metal roof just inches above me, and if the thunder would stop rolling across the black skies, I think I might just be able to hear the lawn growing again.

Perhaps, I could even hear the little wildflowers laughing in tiny little tittering voices.  Laughing at the victory they will win again and again over the old fellow who attempts every year to keep up with their indefatigable spirits.

I’ll try again next week.

Maybe it’ll be more than 12 hours after I finish the job when they get reinforcements from above.  It won’t matter.

In the end, they will win.

When they grow over whatever little patch of ground my body, sans the soul now inhabiting it, will be lowered into—they will win.

Right now, the pounding rain begins anew, reminding me of how short life is and how God’s creation will keep spinning, long after I’m no longer able to police this little half-acre corner of it.

And somehow, the thought makes me smile.

God gave instructions to Adam and Eve, telling them to, “Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and master it.”  (Genesis 1:28, CEV)) It might be a stretch to think that He meant for us to do what I did today with my silly power mower, but it might be what He intended.  It could be.

But, it’s good also to be reminded that He still rules the creation He lent to us way back then.  The rain still accomplishes what He intends, fulfilling the cycle He designed to replenish and re-create gardens, fields, and forests.

And regardless of all the little wildflowers, weeds, and saplings mankind chooses to annihilate as we progress through life, His promise to us is certain.

He will finish what He has started in me—and you—until the day when He takes us to our real home. (Philippians 1:6)

Until then, the rain will fall and the grass and trees will grow.  And sometimes, in between, we’ll mow and labor.

John, who wrote the book of Revelation, echoed the words of Isaiah when He said God will wipe away every tear from our eyes when we’re finally home.

I’m thinking He’ll do away with all the lawnmowers, too.

And, I’m all for that.

 

“Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.”
(A.A. Milne)

“The rain and snow fall from the sky
and do not return,
but instead water the earth
and make it produce and yield crops,
and provide seed for the planter and food for those who must eat.”
(Isaiah 55:11, NET)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.