Cutting Grass

Growing up my mom always talked about how much she enjoyed cutting the grass. Free therapy she called it. A time you could think or not think without distractions. To be honest I thought she was a bit crazy, until this morning. This week I made a decision. A huge, terrifying decision. I spent most of the day yesterday analyzing my choice and the effects it will have on the days to come. It was the last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep last night.

I woke up today, made coffee, baked cinnamon rolls, and watched birds. The usual. Just like every spring today marked the return of yard work. I usually meet this chore with begrudging energy but not today. It was comforting to jump back into a familiar routine. I grabbed the lawnmower and got to work. But, instead of keeping a tally of every blade of grass that fell, my eyes were drawn to the details of the nature around me.

The tiny purple flowers are so delicate in comparison to the gnarly spiked vine of the blackberries. There was the clover patch right beside my roses that never seems to go away. And even though I was cutting away at all of these to produce a near-perfect lawn there was still assurance that all of these would return. Like clockwork,

I knew I would be in this exact spot again in a few days. It was constant and that was comfort. I suddenly understood the appeal of cutting grass. It is a guarantee. Even though the chaos of the world, the growth of grass is a constant. My heart needs a constant. I am at peace, my heart knows that my Father holds me in his hands and will guide me forward. But the thought of those tiny purple flowers popping back out in a few days brings my heart stillness. Here's to cutting grass. Here's to a constant.