My Soul is Weedy

I may have failed to mention that my soul is as weedy as my garden. Just like I ignore my garden until the weeds are taking over the vegetables, I often ignore the state of my soul until my vices demand that I take action. And I do. I pluck a troublesome interloper here and there and toss it away. But that seems to only make room for another to grow.

What I want is for my heart to be like one of my Christmas cabbages: Lush and full and a provider of good things. As it is, though, I lack the singular focus that cabbages have. They are content to be cabbages and to put all of their effort toward being the best, most robust cabbages they can (under the challenging circumstances of my garden).

I, on the other hand, am not happy to be only a cabbage. I want to be the beans and the tomatoes and the carrots and the onions and the spinach, too. In my anxiety over being pigeonholed into one role, I even sometimes find myself attracted to the perilous life of the weeds. And so I let them grow in my unfocused soul with the justification that even weeds have a place and a purpose.

But I have days when I long to live the cabbage's simple life. Alas, however, it is not for me.