The Root of Bitterness

Today I stepped into my clunky garden boots and out my backdoor with no idea what lay waiting.

The first stop: the monkey grass around the azaleas around the oak trees (around the backyard). Four out of six oak trees in our backyard feature this landscape set up, plus one stump. I grabbed the garden rake and made vain attempts to cleanse the monkey grass of it's twigs, acorns and dead leaves, but my rake kept snagging. Ground cover? I grumbled and started pulling. Ground cover is not my favorite: I'd prefer clover and moss everywhere, if I could.

This mysterious "ground cover" was extremely strong and awfully tough. I followed where it led me, and noticed how it wrapped and wound serpentine up my azaleas. The ground cover was a jumbo azalea-suffocating vine. Ack!

Step Two of my landscaping maintenance was going to be Trimming Back the Azaleas, but I couldn't even get through Step One- Cleanse Monkey Grass with this evil snake vine in the way. I pulled out the clippers and began snipping. 

It didn't take more than a moment to realize I needed a plan of attack. The leaves of the vine were nearly indistinguishable from the azalea. Untangling the two species was simply not an option- the vine had grown with and into the white blossomed azalea, undetected all this time (though I have a hunch that this vine is a fast grower).  I realized I needed to get to the base of the vine (where ever *that* may be) and chop it out. And there is no way I could find the base without following and pruning the vine. 

With the boys playing cars under the pavilion, and me having a task requiring very little brain activity, I allowed myself some good musing time. I love musing. I imagined I was saving this azalea's life from the death clutch of the vine. And it's life would not merely be spared- I had big plans to make restore this bud-covered bush and help it meet it's fullest potential.

Then I started pondering what the vines were in my life...

what bad habit, nasty character trait, addiction, streak of sinfulness is growing up undetected in my life? 

And am I willing to let it be clipped off and ripped out by the roots?

Am I willing to go through the complete pruning in the process?
Do I pretend the root isn't there and just take out the nasty parts everyone can see? The vine will surely come back.
Do I justify its presence (that's just the way gardens are), deluding myself?
Or do I insist that it's someone elses' job (the previous owners let it grow, not me!), blaming others to take the responsibility out of my hands?
Am I afraid of what I'll find down that close to the dirt (thorns, all manners of decay, bugs bugs BUGS, potential poison ivy, bees nests and snakes)?

Amidst all my questions, I was studying the vine, trying to figure out how it worked. The vine was subtle- initially I could hardly distinguish it from the azalea branches, lest I forget how subtle sin can be in my life. It also had multiple, interconnected root sources, lest I forget how convoluted life can become. It was strong: while the ground cover was very stringy and plantlike, this vine was not messing around. It took my all to get some of those roots out.

See to it that no one comes short of the grace of God; that no root of bitterness springing up causes trouble, and by it many be defiled.

Hebrews 12:15

Following the vine = sin, and azalea = me analogy, I'm reminded that it's God who does the work. He's the Gardener who sees the superficial errors in us (hmm, nasty looking dead leaves all over the ground) and knows the real reason those errors aren't corrected is because we're suffocating from the big stuff (whoa, this jumbo-vine has about 8 different root sources!).  He's willing cut us back, clean us up, and liberate us from living a half-life-existence that will eventually be extinguished when the vine overtakes us.  God is working in our lives to make us beautiful. 

Here's what I dug up in one afternoon. It's the size of the azalea but denser.

And there's more to be done. There always is. :)

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