“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…It’s about learning to dance in the rain.” -  Vivian Greene

I abandoned our garden for two weeks when I left town to assist my mother who was recoup-erating from knee replacement surgery. I returned to a forest of weeds. I could still see some of our vegetables (caged tomatoes, tall onion tops gone to seed), but some I had to find again (carrots, hidden blooming pepper plants).

The ground, of course, was too wet for the rototiller, so I spent a day making space around the vegetables by weeding by hand.

But it rained again that evening.

The next day I hand-weeded more open space, pulling wet grass and roots out by muddy clumps, still hoping for a full day of sunshine so I could till the next day. But when I looked up, I saw clouds.

By that time, of course, I was hot, sticky, covered in mud from the knees and elbows out, and had become the main luncheon course for every sweat bee, biting fly and mosquito in the area.  But the weeding was not done.

I could see real progress though, and I just kept going, seeing each row as a battle in the ongoing war. I knew I would be bound inside during office hours of the upcoming week, and it was my last opportunity to make great advances. So when the big, fat raindrops began falling from the sky, I just kept going.

My garden clogs got slippery on the inside, so I just kicked them off. When I started slipping in my bare feet, I got down on my knees. While the rain rinsed my face, back and upper arms, the rest of me was just bathed in mud.

But I kept right on weeding, because at that point it all felt good.

The wetter the ground got, the easier the weeds were to pull. Of course, it was harder to get a good grip on them with wet, muddy hands, but even so, each yank made a bigger impact. Rows emerged again in the jungle. Fruits could be see popping out on the vines.

When I finished working, I wandered over to the porch, caked with mud and dripping as I went. My hair had half fallen and was sticking to my neck, my fingernails were crammed full of soil and greens. I was half red from my weedeating in the sun, and half brown from the mud. I glanced to see the water pouring from the eave spout at the end of the porch, and it only made sense at the time to step into its flow.

There’s something about a full day of dirty work that gives you  satisfaction and pride as an adult. Likewise, there’s something about being covered in mud and standing under the rain spout that appeals to your child side.  At that moment, I had the best of both.

Of course, any sane person would head for shelter in a lightening storm, and I wasn’t exactly dancing while I weeded. But when we are all searching for fleeting moments of joy in our lives, a little muddy work and a rinse in the rain spout apparently comes close enough.

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I’ve often come across sayings that, “God doesn’t trust us with more than we can handle.” Usually, such sayings are followed by, “I wish He didn’t trust me so much.”
Of course He trusts us with more than we can handle. How else would we grow and learn?

And yet, we are the biggest culprits in having more than we can handle. In many ways, we plant the seeds of weeds in our own lives. We can’t manage the important plants in our gardens of life because we toss out a seed for a weed every time we take on an item or project that we really can’t responsibly handle.

Before setting a goal of simple living, I believed every opportunity should be explored. I was confident in my ability to do anything I put my mind to.

But so often, we are excited to create, purchase, build, something new that we don’t consider the long-term maintenance that comes with everything. We are so confident in the fact that we can, we deserve, we need — that we never recognize our natural weakness for upkeep.

I know it’s not just Frank and I. Americans are trained to “need” more. Want more. Have more. And by catering to this training to instant gratification, we’ve made ourselves into slaves working to maintain, pay for, store, clean and manage all this “more.”

One of the simple facts of simple living is that less is more. With less in your life, you find more time for the things you really enjoy.

Over the years of our lives, we accumulate “stuff.” I used to love my stuff.  But as time passed, and more stuff arrived, I began to resent my stuff. Lack of proper storage space, lack of need, lack of maintenance — all leads to clutter.

Clutter hinders the ability to focus, or feel relaxed. Clutter is a sure sign you don’t have your stuff in order. A few years ago, I began getting rid of stuff. It’s a process, but over time I’ve developed my own “shall I keep it” criteria:

A. Is it excess paper? Paper doesn’t store or keep well. If it’s important, it needs to be stored properly. If not stored properly, paper draws moisture (creating mold and mildew) and then draws creatures (think roaches and rats). Improperly stored quantities of paper are bad.

B. Will we ever really use it? Clothing, appliances, tools, toys, games… If they haven’t been used in three years, should go. This one is hard for me. I’m convinced, the minute I get rid of something I’ve never needed or used — I’ll need it. It’s happened before. Still, it’s a key point in simplifying your life.

C. Do I love it or use it enough to be responsible for maintaining it the rest of your life? This is a  knick knack attack. Do you want to dust that figurine once a week for the rest of your life? Do you want to clean and treat and store that metal/wood outdoor item every fall? If you don’t take care of it, it quickly can become junk. Then, you just have junk you didn’t take care of.

D. Is it worth more than the storage space it needs? No one has enough storage space. In fact, in simple living, storage space and time are two of the most valuable things in life. That huge box of towels, sheets, blankets, coats etc. that you rarely use is just taking up valuable space. But they’ll bring in good money at a yard sale.

E. Could someone else make better use of it? Does someone need it more than I? This is a good one for clothes, tools and appliances. I can’t wear any of my business suits in the garden. Thus, I don’t need eight of them. And yet, a recent college graduate is trying to pay for business suits for interviewing or a new job. Not only does it feel good to make space in the closet, it also feels good to find good use for something you’ve “saved” or stored. And it feels good to give.

F. Does it represent, honor or reflect that memory perfectly? This is for those things of “sentimental” value, and this one is a toughie. When my mother moved, we ended up with a lot of items that belonged to my father and my grandparents. At first, I viewed every piece as sacred. While some pieces held detailed, joyous memories, other pieces were simply kept due to previous ownership, with no link to any specific memories or moments.

Family items that hold no detailed memory for you might hold memories for other family members or friends.  While our sense of loss, respect and honor might urge us to hoard and hold all things related, items of sentimental value that hold no memories or don’t properly honor the loved one…. are a burden. Ouch. I know that hurts; that’s why this step is so tough. But if you keep it, you are bound by respect to dust, clean, and maintain that empty memory for the rest of your life. Someone else might actually want to do it out of love for a memory it holds for them.

When weeding a garden, you have to decide what is a plant or flower, and what is a weed. Unnecessary extras are the weeds of our lives. If we spend all our time keeping up with and taking care of the extra stuff, we don’t get to choose our paths for proper growth and development. Then, when God hands us something to handle, we feel He’s trusting us with too much.

It’s much easier to spot the weeds in a garden. But it’s not so easy to spot the weeds in our lives.