"We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention."
When the missionaries dug up the garden plot for me last year, they spaded and turned the earth
for a depth of eight inches or so, and added the bagged compost a friend had given me, leaving it
ready to plant. The ground needed to rest for a couple of weeks in order for the compost to break
down into the loose soil.
I went out, about two weeks later, to look at it and think about how I would lay out the plot this
time, and I noticed one tiny, tightly furled shoot poking up right in dead center. It made me think
of a submarine periscope, trying to spy out the surroundings without being seen. I hadn't put
anything in the ground yet, so I wondered--slightly amused--what it would turn out to be. It
was undoubtedly not something that could be allowed to remain, but I wasn't alarmed.
Turns out it was morning glory, popping back into battle with all things cultivated.
Morning glory is the bane of my gardening existence. I hate it.
Bring up the subject, and other gardeners nod wisely and advise that you have to get all the roots
out, or it will come back. It's very difficult to eradicate. (Tell me something that I don't already
know.) It thrives automatically and invades at every opportunity, and probes every weakness. It
wraps itself around everything it can find.
I have a white clematis planted in the back corner, which has tried to die twice. It is finally
growing well and I have watched and removed morning glory out of that corner very carefully.
But it comes in from beneath and through the fence, behind the clematis; while there is a house
with a lawn on one side, that is being tended, the property on the other face is an overgrown
vacant lot and I can't control that. I simply have to try to stay on top of it on my side.
Another, more delicate, type of clematis that I planted farther down the fence line didn't get
tended well, and instead of climbing up it spread out along the ground and was completely
entangled with more morning glory. I tried to separate the strands carefully, but the clematis vine
was more brittle than the morning glory vine, and it broke off to the ground. It's growing back
now, and I'm trying to coax it upwards, but I didn't get any flowers this season. This one, at
least, seems to be resilient, and I think it will be all right.
The yard here had not been tended well for quite a while. There are a lot of weeds and scraggly
patches. Because I have only so much physical capacity, I have concentrated on growing my
vegetable garden and setting in flowers. I made a tulip bed in back, planted a circle of lilies, and
planted some boxes in front. I put out tomatoes, various squash, beets, snow peas, chard, and
beans. The grass hasn't been tackled much.
When the weather started to turn warm in the spring, it was the weeds, of course, that shot up
first. They were rapidly followed by morning glory spiraling up the bare stalks. Meanwhile the
grass was barely waking up; it was depressing.
I pull it out from the bottom gap in the wood fence. I pull it out from the outside of the chain
link on the south side, where it grows vigorously upwards and blocks the light for my tomatoes.
I dig deeper than I would think necessary whenever I plant something in back, trying to find the
runners and exert enough force to yank the horizontal, earth-covered root lines out. I try, but
there is always more.
Morning glory has taken hold on the north side, in the pocket corner between the exterior wall of
the house and the safety fence that guards the basement stairwell. Last spring when we had to go
out of town for a funeral, I knew that it was up over the back of that fence, but I didn't have time
to worry about it. When we returned, it had crested the top edge and shot down the inside face of
the stair wall, and gone under the basement door. There were about four runners trying to fan out
into the open space of the floor; there was no light there, so the vines couldn't form leaves, but
they were still searching: pink naked shoots looking for purchase.
There are a few spots that have been pulled and dug, watched and pulled again, enough that they
seem to be staying free of the invasion for now. I have no illusions that the battle is won. The
stuff doesn't give up.
It's a lot like the struggle between the natural man and the spiritual disciple. King Benjamin said
that the natural man is an enemy of God, and ever will be, except he yields to the enticing of the
Holy Spirit. That word "except" is the key; if we only follow the impulses of the flesh--or in
other words our imperfect nature in a fallen world--Satan is the one who will pull on us. He is
not an imaginary enemy. But he doesn't have to win.
King Benjamin says: " For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of
Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and
putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and
becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all
things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.''
(Mosiah 3:19)
It takes a conscious effort to grow a garden, or even grass after such long neglect; the morning
glory grows naturally, and spreads across anything it can reach. I have to plant lilies or tulips, or
tomatoes or beans, deliberately and tend them, working to dig down and pull out those sneaky
vines that would entwine and suffocate them. Isn't that the way of life? It's harder work to do
the things that really matter, and simple to just let nature take its diminishing course, but that way
we gain nothing and lose so much. The fruits are worth the labor.
King Benjamin succeeded in reaching his people's hearts in his last great address to them, found
in Mosiah chapters 3-5 in the Book of Mormon. He sent out for their response:
"And they all cried with one voice, saying: Yea, we believe all the words which thou hast
spoken unto us; and also, we know of their surety and truth, because of the Spirit of the Lord
Omnipotent, which has wrought a mighty change in us, or in our hearts, that we have no more
disposition to do evil, but to do good continually. " (Mosiah 5:1-2)
When we receive light and truth, and let it fully fill us, sin is banished. Pain is melted away. If
your heart is broken, God can heal it. If your struggles fight back, God will help you again. (And
then again.) He continues to be there with us, he continues to lift us back up, and the roots of an
old life will be done away in Christ. Sometimes our life is transformed in a moment, sometimes
in a gradual process, but all of us must reach upwards and choose obedience, and love. Then
what is gracious, lovely, patient, faithful, and kind becomes natural. Alma asked, "Have you
received his image in your countenances?" because that light shines.
Our enemy vines might be selfishness, short temper, or any of a number of things; we might not
be able to yank all their roots out ourselves, but our Savior can reach them. It seems to me that
he doesn't pull them out so much as make them wither. As we are begotten spiritually in him and
continue to grow, our heart's garden transforms. The beautiful plants flourish and bloom, and
the weeds, those weaknesses that are part of the natural man and seek to creep in, will not find
nourishment any more. They just die naturally.
I think that's what he means when he says that he will create in us "a new heart" so that we walk
in the newness of life, in light and joy. The scriptures are filled with the promise and invitation
to come unto Christ and be born in him; may we each find that happiness.
Marian J. Stoddard was born in Washington, D.C., and grew up in its Maryland suburbs. Her
father grew up in Carson City, Nevada, and her mother in Salt Lake City, so she was always
partly a Westerner at heart, and she ended up raising her family in Washington State. Her family
took road trips all over the United States and Canada, so there were lots of adventures.
The adventures of music, literature, and art were also valued and pursued. Playing tourist always
included the local museums as well as historical sites and places of natural beauty. Discussions
at home, around the dinner table or working in the kitchen, could cover politics, philosophy, or
poetry, with the perspective of the gospel underlying all. Words and ideas, and testimony and
service, were the family currency.
Marian graduated from Winston Churchill High School in Potomac, Maryland, and attended the
University of Utah as the recipient of the Ralph Hardy Memorial Scholarship, where she was
graduated with honors, receiving a B.A. in English. She also met the love of her life, a law
student, three weeks after her arrival; she jokes that she had to marry him because her mother
always wanted a tenor in the family. (She sings second soprano.) They were married two years
later and have six children and six grandchildren (so far). She treasures her family, her friends,
and her opportunities to serve.
Visit Marian at her blog, greaterthansparrows. You can contact her at
bloggermarian@gmail.com.
Marian and her husband live in Tacoma, Washington. Together they teach those who are
preparing to go to the temple for the first time, and she also teaches a Stake Relief Society
Institute class.