“You are growing like a weed!” family used to tell me. Twice a year. I never really thought about it at that time, but now I’m a mom, and I start thinking about those things again. By the way, my kids? Totally growing like weeds.
As a kid, our house had three trees in the front yard. Two of them were my brothers’ pine trees because they brought them back from a Carlsbad Caverns school trip. The third was a mimosa tree. It started out as a weed, and then my parents decided to keep it. It was my tree. It’s no longer a weed! It is wanted. I, at last, had a tree. I say at last. I don’t know when they moved it to its home. After all, I was probably a baby. The weed grew up to become a tree.
Now, as a home owner and as a mom, I got to thinking about weeds. There’s a plant under our patio that likes to grow out and block the steps down. I’m pretty sure it was planted there, but to me, it’s a weed. I really want to burn it with fire. Several friends recently have had their third kids (or they are about to, at least). Some of them weren’t expecting it this soon in their family life. Some thought they’d only have their two kids until they found out about kid #3. But the interesting thing? None of these friends don’t want their kids. It’s just not on their timing, but those kids? So very loved.
And then I got to thinking about life because that’s what i do in the wee hours of the day when my son is awake, and my daughter happily is still asleep (or at least happily quiet in her room). Someone in a chat server I occasionally visited called himself “unimportant.” That struck a nerve, that someone wouldn’t feel important, and suddenly I wanted to teleport through electronics to his end of the computer or phone (I’ve been binging season 1 of Supergirl. I essentially want to be Indigo/Brainiac, just not as sadistic), give him a hug, and tell him, you are important… you are valuable… you are loved…
Election season is upon us, and it’s tearing our nation further apart with the horrific name calling and blaming of each other. I hate it. I could tell you why I’m voting the way I am, but that’s not important. What’s important is after a tape was released of so called “locker room talk,” women who felt like they had been devalued through no fault of their own, started coming forward, speaking up against said “talk,” telling their stories… Stories of pain, betrayal, hurt, confusion… stories that break my heart. And yet people still shame the victim, asking about impertinent details. This still happens. There have been many moments I’ve wanted to, once again, Brainiac my way through my computer to give these people hugs. I want to remind them of their worth, which is independent of what has happened to them. I want to remind them they are loved. They are not alone.
A large part of my faith is placing my identity not in my flesh and who the world says I am, but in Christ and who the Bible says I am. I am His. I am loved. I have been bought with a very steep price… If I could, I would tell everyone about their worth not being a part of what the world says. “Beauty is fleeting…”
Dear Reader, if you are struggling with feeling loved, please reach out to me. Tell me your story. Know that you are loved just the way you are. You are not a weed to be tossed out, but to be transplanted, nursed, and grown into a beautiful tree.