It was just after the rainstorm that I headed out to pull weeds one morning. The overgrowth of weeds in the summer has a way of leaving me overwhelmed and exhausted. Lush flowerbeds that were beautiful in the spring have been left with no choice but to dry out in thick, oppressive heat. This all happens while the ground garners foul foes, who steal good nutrients from once healthy plants.

Beauty and vibrancy get replaced by faded soil with ugly sprouts as reminders of what was. Tired plants give up trying to live and succumb to their sinister siblings- the weeds. The humidity creates a natural moisture bubble that makes it hard to breathe as I yank the aggressive antagonizers by the root. Sweat collects on my brow, as the dirt collects under my fingernails and stains my hands.

Throughout the uprooting process, my mind races in ways that leave me frustrated. Without fail, the physical act of weeding always correlates to a spiritual and emotional weeding that is due. As I dig my hands into the soil, I think of the many sins that need exposure and uprooting in my own heart. As I feel the ache in my back, I think of how this process wouldn’t be as painful if I did it more often. As I collect piles and piles of undesirable plants, I think of how much healthier the soil would be without them if I just did the work. As I stand up and walk away from the job at hand, I try to think of how thankful I am for the work that God never stops doing in me, but can’t shake the nagging shame that threatens my view of myself.

These thoughts were wreaking havoc that day and as I wiped my sweaty forehead, no doubt looking as drained as the beds I was tending, I garnered the strength to straighten my knees. As soon as I went from kneeling to standing, a car stopped right in front of my driveway. The timing was exact. I looked up to see a bouquet of beautiful, lush flowers coming towards me in the hands of a dear friend who also had been holding my petitions and prayers close to her heart over the days leading up to this moment. She was extending an offering of life in her hands right when I didn’t know if I could keep going. She didn’t know I was outside, laboring to rid myself of things that had been growing that shouldn’t be there. She didn’t know the sweat pouring down my face had been mingled with tears minutes earlier. But God did. And God used her to remind me there is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1).

That bouquet of flowers said

“Daughter, don’t forget that I saved you.”

“Daughter, don’t forget that I love you.”

“Daughter, don’t forget what you mean to me.”

“Daughter, don’t forget the work I’m doing in you will be brought to completion.”

On that day, I was reminiscing on what was, while doing the work of what is, to be met with what it will be eventually again. In a moment that was too exact to give credit to coincidence, God met me and snapped me out of a swirling cycle of self-depreciation, frustration, and pity. He used my dear friend to remind me of His posture of grace. He sees, He knows, He hears, and most importantly- He cares. He met me exactly when I needed to be reminded of His kindness, which He gives often if we are willing to receive it. A good God reminds us in our forgetfulness that He is, in fact, a good God.

The reality is…I will forget again because I am prone to wander when things are stable and seem to be going well. But I trust God will remind me of the truths I need to hear, in the midst of the mighty, refining work He is doing in each of His children. I am so thankful to be one of them.