After recording Catholic Weekend this morning, I joined John on the back porch. That area has turned into quite a retreat for us, and although I complained and moaned about the expense, and especially his design for the structure, I figured it’s his hobby, stay out of it.
Except, there’s no way for me to stay out of it. In fact, I’m always in it, as in, sitting in the cool shade enjoying the breeze and the natural air conditioning when the sprinklers come on and a fine mist refreshes us. Good call, honey. I don’t even mock his little corn rows even though the neighbors tease him plenty, even calling him Farmer John.
Anyway, so we’re sitting outside enjoying some sweet tea and watching the dog chase his tail. I’d been doing some weeding in the roses and he’d been playing around on his iPad when I came up and plopped next to him, complaining that I couldn’t get Immaculate Mary out of my head. He laughed and suggested that maybe I should get Mary out of the weeds…
Poor Mary…I had neglected her, too. These past weeks of travel, planning, and general malaise took a toll on her in the garden, but it also took a different toll on me.
Tending to the weeds is usually an easy project. In the evenings when I sit outside with John, it only takes a few minutes for me to pull some new growth, maybe cut off some deadheads from the rose bushes, and I’m back to my cup of coffee or glass of wine to continue to enjoy our conversation. If…if…I tend to things a little bit every day. If not, things get overgrown easily. If I abandon it altogether, and I’d often done that when the children were little, it would take a backhoe to set things right again. Sometimes so much damage had been done that razing the field and starting over was the best solution.
So I patiently tackled Mary’s little area. And Momma Mary patiently tackled me, pulling some weeds out of my heart and sending me on my way, pointing in her Son’s direction.