The Weeds Will Always Win

“Faith is looking beyond what is, and trusting what will be … (faith) is the presence of light in darkness, the presence of God in all.” Ellen M. Cuomo

The dandelions have taken over the lawn again. We did a fair amount of weed control when we first moved to our home in Western Washington six years back. Lawns take a lot of work, there’s no doubt about it. But we’d gotten the dandelions pretty well under control by digging them out one by one and engaging in a chemical warfare I’m not fond of (for the environment’s sake). But over time, they have crept back into our lawn once again to become a major eyesore. 

Why is it that children are so care-free and adults so uptight about things like neat lawns, prize winning roses, or hedges trimmed straight, level, and plumb? 

I recall sitting, as a child, on dandelion infested lawns, gazing in wonder at those fragile seeds arranged in a downy ball more wondrous than any fireworks display on the Fourth of July. I could pluck up a stem ever so carefully so as to avoid losing even one pif [sic] so that I could personally blow the whole ball of wax apart with a breath – delighted to see the wind pick up each and every seed, spreading them far and wide into neighbors’ yards. 

Those were also days I would hold bright yellow dandelion flowers beneath the chins of little neighborhood girls to see if they liked butter (for the old tale was told that if your chin glowed yellow, then you did, indeed, like butter). We didn’t ruin the effect by talking about the science of light rays, reflections, and the rods and cones in our eyes that allow us to see such things. We simply delighted ourselves with the experience of life, being silly, and having fun being kids.

Oh sure, we had our chores. We had homework to do during the school year. But play is (and was) a child’s primary work. That’s how we learned to get along and how to settle disputes. We learned about consequences, too. Mr. Grassley yelled at us, scolding us for spreading (“dander-lions,” he called them) and potentially ruining his pristine lawn. The wind blows where it will, and God doesn’t care where seeds blow, but Mr. Grassley sure did!

Well, I'm grown up now (for the most part) and the dandelion seeds have suddenly come home to roost. I live a sober life, so I’ve never yearned to make dandelion wine (and that which I tasted years ago never resulted in my wanting more), so the old saw about turning lemons into lemonade (in this case, dandelions into dandelion wine) simply doesn’t hold water today.

I can guarantee I am at the age where I will not be digging weeds out of the grass one by one with my pointy little dandelion tool any more. As much as I resist looking to utilize a chemical solution for a natural problem, I’m afraid I probably will. I know it is a losing battle. In a war of man versus nature, nature will always win. 

I wonder if I really need to control the weeds that crop up from time to time in my lawn or flower beds. I’ve often heard it said that the opposite of love is not hate or apathy, but control. How can we say we love nature if we seek continually to control it? How can we say we love our neighbor if we continually try to control them? How can we say we love God if we perpetually try to control God with our prayers or wishes? 

Jesus taught us to pray, “Thy will be done.” Maybe I don’t need to control weeds or life; I just need to make adjustments so that they don’t control me, for I believe it’s a two-way street.  

In the end, I don’t need to become an herbicidal maniac; I just need to look “beyond what is and trusting what will be” (in the words of the poet). In the meantime, it’s enough to know I DO like butter here in this, our valley. My dandelions tell me so.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)