Every now and again over the course of our life, we run into a patch of stickers. I speak both figuratively and literally. Yesterday after work, I ran into a literal patch of stickers, goat heads to be specific.
The previous renters did not care properly for the yard and as a result, I was met with a bumper crop of stickers along the side of our house. This was not a terrible thing, in fact I rather enjoyed the hour that it took to pull up those little demons. I wore thick leather gloves, but in the process of prying up the larger plants, I still got stuck quite a few times and this morning, my knuckles are full of holes, stiff and swollen.
The pain, though little more than an annoyance, got me to thinking about the figurative stickers in our lives. Whether we planted them, they were the result of carelessness or neglect, or someone else tossed them maliciously into our yard, we all have stickers that poke us and make us less useful and attractive (not physically) than we ought to be.
I really enjoyed pulling out those stickers yesterday. I hate stickers and relished the idea of getting them out of my lawn (even though the lawn is currently dead). This morning I went outside early to see the results of my labor and at work, as I bend my achy fingers, I am reminded that I am well on my way to having a lush green lawn that we will be able to tiptoe barefoot across.
I am less eager to pull the stickers in my life, I fear the pain that will come from pulling them and have actually grow rather comfortable with having them in my life. They keep others from getting to close and though they are painful and unsightly, they are mine.
My God is less impressed with my stickers and has offered to help me pull them. I think that I need to start dealing with my figurative stickers in the same way that I did my physical ones. Put on the thick gloves, and start pulling.