There’s something particularly fulfilling in pulling up a weed by the roots. Standing there—or in some cases, after a quick depose to our seats, we may be found sitting—with the weed in hand, the root system dangling disappointedly at the bottom, there is a certain exhilaration that fills us. Even though it’s only nothing more than a simple weed, it pleases us to have at last removed it in a way we can be sure it will not appear again.

Then after many hours of work—depending on the size of our plot—we can stand back with an air of achievement and look at the garden, now free from unwanted plants, and they which remain stand free and strong, uninhibited by any others which needlessly drain the soil of its nutrients. With a flush of thankfulness our crops express their gratitude, and turn to the task of growing and bearing fruit.

For the most part, the task can be enjoyable. For the most part, the task can be appreciated. But there is a part that none of us appreciate. It is when somebody else comes along and stands there, pointing out weeds that we have missed, spots we have left, or plants we have broken, that we begin to feel inclined to respond slightly conceitedly. “I’ve been gardening for over ** years, do you think I didn’t see those weeds?!” “Get out of my hair and go look at your own garden! Your strawberry patch is full of weeds.” “I left that spot there on purpose, the weeds are too hard to get out, and there’s really nothing growing there anyways.” “So! That plant was spindly anyways; I’m allowed to pull out a couple in a garden this big.” So we reason on, missing the opportunity to make our garden even better yet. But do we respond any differently when the Lord reaches down his hand and taps us on the shoulder. “Do you see that weed there? It needs to come out, child.” “But God! I’ve already tried to do that half a dozen times and it just won’t come out.” “Would you like some help?” Ah… would we like some help? We at times feel dependant enough on our own few abilities to want be able to manage our own garden. We feel like responding and asking God if we can’t try it later after we’ve done the rest of the garden. Later, when we can try it again on our own.

Oh, how we tend to feel capable. All humanity has the bent to resist the offers of God, to resist his offers to wrap his hand around ours. “My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Who, oh man, are you, that you should reject the offers of greater strength? Nay, but that we may reach up and clasp his hands. That we may say, “Father, thy grace is sufficient for me. Your strength, not mine, will conquer.” Our strength will fail; our resolves will not stand. Only in the strength of Him who has born us again, of Him who hath made us heirs in His kingdom, can we expect to find strength, to find victory, to find safety.

The same atmosphere that nourishes our garden, the same rain that encourages the plants, the same wind the cools the earth, also brings with it more seeds, also nourishes more weeds. As long as our garden is on this earth, new seeds will fly in and take root. It takes work to keep our garden weed-free, it takes daily attention. And not only to the weeds, but also to our plants. Crops cannot survive without water, and in time of drought begin to shrivel, wilt, and die. But the weeds seem to stand up to any condition. They seem to thrive as well in the dry as in the wet. They are so much harder to uproot. In this condition, our garden suffers the greatest. But why do we find it necessary to leave them to dry? Why do we resign ourselves to despair? The river of life flows nearby. What must we do but go and dip in our pails and irrigate our suffering fruit.

Daily, continually, incessantly, we must water our garden. We must walk to the cool shade of the river, and draw from the flowing water. Draw for our garden, drink for ourselves. Daily we must meet with God, in tryst, to strengthen our souls, to obtain water for our thirsty plants—Existing off His word, hydrating from the living waters. Or as John Piper said, “Inhaling word, exhaling prayer.—This is the Christian life”

More on Prayer [The Sword in Love]

There’s a sacred and hallowed retreat,
Where my soul finds a fellowship sweet,
Where the Lord of my life I may meet,
In the garden of my heart.

In the cool of the day He walks with me,
In the rose bordered way He talks with me;
In love’s holy union,
And sacred communion,
In the garden of my heart.

There is naught can disturb or molest,
There my spirit finds comfort and rest,
And my soul is no longer distressed
In the garden of my heart.

Shut away from earth’s strife and its din,
And protected from soul staining sin,
For my Savior is dwelling within,
In the garden of my heart.

There the dove of sweet peace always sings,
And my faith ever trustingly clings;
And the chime of sweet happiness rings
In the garden of my heart.

-Unknown