I had a little experience recently in which I was on my way somewhere unannounced, albeit invited. It started as a tiny little unrealistic voice in the back of my consciousness, and then it got louder and materialized itself in my conscious thought until it consumed me and it was all I could think about. I wasn’t terrified, exactly, because I didn’t really believe it, but having turned down the invitation initially, I found myself unable to proceed with the entrance without first pulling out the cell phone and giving trepidatious warning of my arrival. Yes, “warning.” If there were something going on that I’m not supposed to see or find out about, if there is something that I would walk into, knowledge of which would crush me, please get rid of it before I witness something that will change “us” forever.

Of course there was nothing. I was welcomed with open arms, as I had always been. He continuously passes every test, even though I am not testing him.

If I think back, I believe I can pinpoint the exact moment I started sliding backwards. It didn’t take much. It was just a tiny hair-thick root of a bad, bad weed. But I am powerless to pluck it out. It is not my garden, it is not my weed. And I am a sore gardener who still bears the dirt and stains evident of a prior battle with weeds that were not my own.

It is things like this, so small and insignificant by sight, so encompassing and ominous by feel, that makes me feel like I should quit gardening.