WRITE 2 THE HEART
Stories that are aimed "Write 2 the Heart"
October 9, 2003
Cheryl Speir, Editor, moderator@write2theheart.com
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Compassion is a lesson that is sometimes learned in unusual ways.
Who would dream that it would come from a pile of weeds?
Visit Write 2 the Heart’s web site and read more about Pamela
Jenkins. You will find a picture of her and one of her furry friends.
Visit: http://www.write2theheart.com/html/writer_profiles.html
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A Gardener's Lesson
By Pamela Jenkins
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I knelt down in the grass beside my flowerbed. The sun was
shining warm on my back and the grass was soft. I started to pull
the weeds that seem to grow up overnight among the flowers. If I
didn't watch closely, the interlopers would creep in and in no time
they would crowd out my begonias and marigolds. Every few days
I had to remove the new starts so that my own flowers would stay
healthy and strong.
Each weed I pulled was added to a small pile behind me on the
lawn. As I crawled along on my hands and knees, I would start a
new pile of discards every few feet. Sometimes I would stop to
admire the pretty pansies or pick back a spent bloom on a
geranium. The butterflies were out in full force as if to say they
appreciated all the effort I put into growing flowers just for them.
I was working especially hard that day because my parents were
coming for a visit. They had a lovely yard full of flowers, and even
a greenhouse to keep their flowers growing through the winter. I
knew I couldn't compete with their practiced green thumbs, but I
wanted my flowers to look their best for their inspection.
All too soon, my family's car pulled into the driveway. I stood up,
brushing the dirt off my hands and glancing back to give my
flowerbed a last critical survey. It looked good, I thought to
myself.
After a few moments of welcoming my visitors, my mother went
into the house to see her grandchildren. My Dad stood outside on
the lawn and looked around. Then he saw the little piles of weeds
at his feet.
"What's this?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, I was just weeding the beds and hadn't thrown those away
yet," I said proudly. I bent over and started to gather up the weeds.
I stopped when I saw the look on my Dad's face.
It was one of those looks I dreaded with all my heart. Dad was
never a strong disciplinarian in the way that some parents are. He
never raised his hand to us when we were growing up. All he had
to do was give us that look of disappointment and it was enough to
make us want to do whatever it took to make things right again.
Dad studied the wilting weeds on the ground, then looked at me
sadly. "They just want to live, too," he said softly.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My Dad, the master
gardener, feeling sorry for weeds! I followed him up the steps and
into the house, where we all sat back and had iced tea and a good
visit.
After a little while, my parents became involved with the children
And I found a quiet moment. I went back out to the yard and began
to gather the discarded weeds. I carried them down to the side of
the road near our driveway.
There near the fencerow, I dug in the soft ground, still damp from
the recent rains. One by one I held the plants while I smoothed the
dirt around their roots. I was giving them a sprinkling of water
from a bucket when I noticed that my father had walked up behind
me.
He looked over the replanted weeds with a funny expression on his
face. I wondered what he was thinking. Then my normally
reserved father put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a
hug. I saw the brightness in his eyes as he smiled at me.
Nothing more was ever said about preserving the weeds, but that
lesson in compassion on a summer day has stayed with me a
lifetime. Whether it's the runt of a litter of puppies, a newly
hatched chick, or a struggling plant, I have a reason for doing all I
can to help it along. Every living thing is a gift from God and is
precious. I now see things from a different point of view.
And I still hear my father's words, "They just want to live, too."
Pamela Jenkins
bunnies-n-birds @ juno.com
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Pamela Jenkins lives on a farm in Oklahoma with her husband of
twenty-three years and their four children. She is the office
manager of a veterinary clinic and enjoys writing in her spare time.
She is the co-author of several books including Chicken Soup for
the Grandparent's Soul and Chocolate for a Woman's Dreams.
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Letters From Our Readers
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Ginger sure does lead an eventful life! Wake Up Call would be the
story behind her previous story. I am so thankful that God is able to
keep our children as He demonstrated with Ginger’s son. But what
a terrible time to walk through as a parent.
Kim
My heart goes out to Ginger for having to go through her son’s
accident. She was able to relay her anxiety, worry, horror and relief.
Most of all her thanksgiving at Jason’s life being preserved.
Great job.
Anne T.
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Military Prayer Reminder
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As you read over this list of names, please take that
moment to pray for these young people and their families:
Chris Speir
Tim Speir
Alan
Thaddeaus
Howard
Todd Holland
Graham
William
Julie Sagel
Jessie
Marshal Thompson
Jason
Eric Hernandez
Kristin Danielson
Ken Prieur
Ryan
Please continue to pray for our country, our leaders, and our
troops at this time.
If you have loved ones in the military, or who are being
called to go overseas, send their names (first and last
or first only) to be included in our prayer reminder.
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Cheryl's Corner
Can you believe that Christmas display’s are already in the stores?
Three months of Christmas decorations is a little much for me. I
put up my tree the first Saturday in December. By the end of the
month I am itching to take it down.
I saw a tip on TV yesterday for people to hang their Christmas
lights on their house, outdoor shrubs, and trees now. This is to
keep people from doing it in the cold. Must be a great idea for
many of you. Down here the cords would just be in the way of the
lawnmower.
God Bless,
Cheryl
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