Last month Tom and I stood on our new patio, the one which feels like an observation deck at times, overlooking wild lands and lakes and animals. (Well, kinda. Visit me and you'll admire my imagination.)
Then Tom stepped out upon the newly-seeded (as of November) lawn and began pulling the occasional weed amongst the tons and tons of baby grass. There he was leaning on his cane and pulling the weeds with his newly-operated-upon arm.
"Tom," I said. "Weeds are growing in the old grass and they're gonna grow in the new grass, too. Don't you think you should relax? I mean, we have an old 1800's farm. This isn't a fancy-schmancy ______," then I had a typical brain freeze.
Tom chuckled. "Country club?"
"Yes! That's perfect. This is an old farm, not a country club. So stop worrying about the weeds in the lawn."
Ever since then whenever I'm watching from the kitchen and see Tom bending over and pulling weeds from the new lawn, I push open the window and call to him, "It's a farm, not a country club!"
Then he smiles and comes into the house. Heh.
It's so important, I think, to know and accept what you have at this moment. Of course, we could dump pounds of chemicals on our lawn, but that would poison this land which we hope to make into a wildlife sanctuary of sorts (and chemicals fly against everything I believe). And we could kill ourselves edging every bit of our two or more acres of lawn and then pristinely landscape the whole thing to look like something else. But the fact remains--this is 1800's farmland and we have a barn and an orchard and a big garden and monster weeds and it's all a ton of work for a couple in their 50's who, however silly it may be, desire to do the yard work themselves.
It's a farm, not a country club. And I'm a 51-year-old average woman, not a work horse and not an extremely talented and experienced farm girl like Mary Jane Butters. No, Tom is Tom and I am me and this is our little farm where mostly (I like to say) I am gardening by computer. "The orchard trees need pruning and fertilizing? Well, I'd better go inside and look up how to do that online. I've never grown ferns or grapes or iris' before? Never made a rock patio or dug a small pond or thinned trees? Better check-out the instructions online."
Today I am me and there's no reason to resent where I am. Someday I'll be more knowledgeable and more experienced in the ways of farm life, but today I cannot jump from where I am to where I will be--I can only accept where I am and take a new step forward. Then another step and another, enjoying each one, as well as myself, our farm, and Life and God on this journey.
We cannot truly love something unless first accepting it just as it is today.