This quarantine thing gets old quick now just like it did back when it supposedly meant something.
This time we both headed into the backyard to attach the weeds in another of the flowerbeds. We also did some bush trimming. I marvel continually at the style differences between Chris and me. Oh, I don’t mean what we wear. I’m talking about our styles of pulling weeds. Didn’t know there was such a thing? Well … yep.
She attacks the evil buggers with a Walmart bag in hand, dutifully stuffing each hand duly until the plastic bag bulges. Only then does she stand up and walk to the trash can to dump the residue and begin again. I guess it does help her get in her steps, though.
I, on the other hand, pull the weeds, then haphazardly chunk them into a series of random piles. When I reach the point where it is becoming evident we should quit for the day, only then do I rise, roll the trash can over to my place of toil, and systematically pick up my piles and toss them.
The result is the same. The techniques are radically different. Oh, and the flower bed look pretty good.
John 1:14 says, The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.
Father, thanks for the beauty of nature that you created. Amen.
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