The thing about owning a house is that weekends now come fully stocked with grass that needs mowing, weeds that need pulling, and other responsibilities that if ignored, would probably end up growing out of control in a kind of way that would defeat the purpose of having a house.
The thing about yard work is that sometimes in the moments when your fingernails are complete with a dirt manicure, your neck is sunburned, and you have stopped caring about the bug crawling across your left forearm, somewhere in there you think about that verse in the bible when God told man he would work the ground (with toil)
The thing about working with the ground is that there are all sorts of parables to be derived from insects that live under rocks and vines that grow over the fence.
Yesterday I noticed that what seems to overtake the established shrubs in our front yard are the small, shallow weeds. They curl up over the branches and leaves and grow like a web around the plant. It happens quietly and subtly, almost gently, like a hug they close in. Some of the ones I pulled last weekend were there again this weekend, taking their place, challenging me for the final word.
If my body is a dwelling of spirit and soul, maybe their needs to be a sabbath day of rest and a sabbath day of weeding.