Can't husbands just read our minds?

Foliage

Theology in the Trenches

by Kathleen Kjolhaug

Spring sprang upon us rather quickly. One day nothing was green, and the next day everything was.

As I peered over the porch railing admiring the vibrancy of the life giving colors across the lawn, the first thing I noticed was a bush in the corner of the front garden. Last year the greenery sprayed around in circular formation enveloping a cement statue I’d transplanted from our other garden years ago. The little cement figure of St. Francis of Assisi stood at attention near the corner of that front porch.

However, this year as the foliage unfolded, it was a nasty mess. St. Francis was all but covered and the only portion of the little portion was the bald spot atop his head. The tiny cement bird he held poked through as well, but that was about it.

The more I looked, the more I fumed, and the more I fumed, the more frustrated I became. All I wanted was to take the shears and clip off a bit of the greenery so I could get a view of my little statue.  As I reflected, I realized I was upset for two reasons. First, I could not find the hedge clippers anywhere in order to take care of this situation myself, and second, I was upset that my husband did not read my mind and clip the bush!

He knew how much I enjoyed my little cement guest. Granted, it was only a statue, but it reminded me of the Sisters of St. Francis who were so dear to me while growing up. They had permeated my life with their love throughout grade school as they lived simply. Like St. Francis, they had taken vows of poverty which allowed them to focus on things of the Lord, verses things in this world. I admired that, and the little statue was something that brought joy to my heart.

Rattled I was about the whole situation. What if I can’t trim this bush this time of year and the whole thing dies? What if this expands so much that the branches will be too thick to trim? The thoughts kept coming but interestingly enough, I never voiced any of them to my husband. Nope, I expected him to just see it and fix it.

Finally, after waiting and watching the greenery blossom like a full blown wreath, I pleaded my case. “Can’t you trim this for me? It’s getting so big. I can’t see my little statue under all of this green stuff!”

His reply was simple and steadfast. “You don’t want to cut that. Look how beautiful that new growth is.  Why don’t you just move the statue?” In one swoop he lifted my little statue into position. The soft green growth draped itself just over the shoulders of St. Francis, and it was even more beautiful than the year before.

With the help of Psalm 51:10, 12, I confessed. “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me…Restore unto me the joy of your salvation and renew a right spirit within me.” Amen.