“A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.”

(James 1:8)

 

“A weed is an unproductive plant that takes light and nourishment from the good ones around it,” she thought as she pulled up another mallow.

The mallow plants had especially deep roots, and were impossible to pull up unless the soil was damp.  She had just irrigated the garden, so the mallow was coming out roots and all.  The straight rows looked lovely behind her.  Ahead, the mallow was thick and spreading, and threatening to smother the carrots.

She particularly didn’t like a prickly, vine-like weed, whose name she didn’t know, that was growing among the raspberries.  If let go too long, it made an impossible tangle in which nothing else could grow.  Most numerous were the lambsquarters and redroot pigweed.  They were everywhere, but they were at least easy to pull.

She loved working in her garden.  It was good therapy.  Here she was accomplishing something, and could look back and see progress.  Here in the garden her husband wasn’t shouting at her.  She was away from the almost minute-by-minute frustrations he caused her to feel.  No one was telling her which weeds to pull, or telling her she was stupid for working into the sun instead of away from it.

The garden was her place to flee to when he got angry.  His tirades and verbal abuse were suffocating.  Their beautiful 16-year-old daughter took almost as much abuse as she did.  The girl sometimes dared to talk back and stand up to him.  The poor girl was looking forward to the weekend.  “Won’t Saturday be fun?” she had said.  “Dad leaves in the morning, and the church picnic is in the evening.”

How sad that the man’s own children were looking forward to him leaving!  But she was glad, too.  She couldn’t wait.  He’d moved them here because he’d lost his job, and had run out of options.  The job loss was because of his temper again.  He burned bridges wherever he went.  He was going back now to take care of loose ends, he had said; but she suspicioned that he was deserting them.  She was hoping he was deserting them.  Life would be so lovely once he was gone.  The house would be clean again.  He was always yelling about the clutter the kids made, but ironically, the house was only a mess when he was around.  Somehow he seemed to drain everyone of energy.

 

 

“A weed is a plant out of place,” the old man thought as he mowed the aspen shoots that were coming up in his yard.  The quaking aspen in the corner was his favorite tree, but it sent up shoots everywhere and would soon overwhelm everything if not kept under control.

His yard and the orchard behind it were a beautiful park.  There was no more lovely place in the whole world.  The flowers and the fruit trees and the beautiful lawn were a

Garden of Eden.  Adam would have lived in a place like this.

The old man had been at peace with the world.  He had two gardens—both of them perfect.  The other garden was his family.  He felt very blessed.  He’d raised a large family.  He’d brought them up in the Church, and had taught them all how to love their work and each other.  They were all best friends, stalwart and steadfast.  They’d given him many grandchildren, all exceptionally bright and good.  He took special comfort in knowing that every Sunday, no matter where they were, every one of his numerous posterity was at church.

Except for the one son-in-law.  The fellow was finding more and more reasons to skip church.  His wife and children would be there, without fail; but he either felt sick or had some other pressing thing that was more important.  He wasn’t at their large Sunday dinners, either.  He didn’t fit in.  He was uncomfortable around them.  He never smiled any more.  He was dark and somewhat frightening.

His wife had confronted him about the stash of vodka she found in the garage.  The odd smells that were sometimes in the house let her know that drugs were a problem, too.  The dating website she’d caught him accessing was another headshaker.

How had this man slipped into his family, the old man wondered?  He’d seemed all right at first.  The boy wouldn’t have been his choice for his lovely and gentle daughter; but they were in love, and up front, everything had been in order.  The things he was hiding were the problem.  He’d lied to the girl about his behaviors before marriage, and was now leading a double life.  He was making himself crazy by pretending to be righteous while also being an addict.  He was irrational and dysfunctional.

Every day the old man resolved not to allow himself to think about his son-in-law.  Such thoughts were detrimental to his mental well-being.  He was losing many hours of sleep over this family.  But in spite of his daily resolutions, each day brought several more revelations of the irrational things the man was doing.

Just last night he’d ordered his children to brush their teeth and go to bed.  There was no toothpaste in the house except the tube in the man’s shaving kit.  When one of the kids went downstairs and got it, their father had thrown a fit.

Same thing with the toilet paper.  There was none in the house but his own roll.  What sort of demented thinking was that?  There was no food in the house, no money, no gas in the car, and it had a flat tire.  There was no oil for the furnace, no wood for the fireplace, and winter was coming.  He had no job, and was going back to California to sign up for unemployment compensation.  He should have done that three months ago.

Where was the man’s mind?!  He’d spent their last money on a pup—an ugly sheepdog pup!—for which the owner had originally asked $1000, but which he’d gotten for a “deal.”

Saturday was coming.  The son-in-law had a plane ticket, purchased by his father, to return to California.  Relief was in sight.  How had his daughter endured this?  Once he was gone, then he could step in and help.  He’d make sure there were toothpaste and toilet paper and food in the house, and that the rent was paid.  His daughter was getting a job, (unbeknownst to her husband), and was enrolling in college to finish her education, (also unbeknownst to her husband).  Could they endure ‘til Saturday?

The old man had made it his constant prayer for months that all things would work together for the good of his daughter and her children.  And they were.  Now he was adding to that prayer that her husband wouldn’t return.  Everything would turn out nicely if the man would just step out of the picture.  Neither he nor his daughter believed in divorce, but it had to be.  It would just be so much cleaner if the man would initiate the separation himself.

If only Saturday would come!  Then maybe the knot in the old man’s stomach would go away, and he could start sleeping again.

 

 

“A weed is a plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.”

That was the definition the man read in his old Botany book.  At the time he wasn’t actually trying to read anything, but the book fell open to that page when he dropped it on the floor.  He was trying to find a place for all his books before he left for California.  He had lots of books, though he never looked at them anymore.  Someday he’d need them again.  He was a teacher—or at least he had been.  He’d still be one if it hadn’t been for that cursed woman who was in charge of hiring and firing at the district office.  She’d declared him unfit to teach, and put it in his permanent record.  There was no chance now of getting a job anywhere.  He was glad that he’d been able to vent his feelings at her, even if she did have him escorted home by the police.  The only thing he regretted was having told her that he sometimes heard voices.  He shouldn’t have let that slip out.

The whole thing was his wife’s fault anyway.  The bottom line was that she was crazy.  He couldn’t talk to her anymore without the conversation becoming all about him.  She was absolutely crazy.  And the kids were all listening to her and taking her side on everything.  They were all nuts, and he was going to get them straightened out if it was the last thing he did.  They were the reason he was drinking.  It was the only way he could feel any peace.

His wife had been a good woman when he married her 17 years ago.  She was a prize, in fact.  She was still beautiful, and young looking.  People were always mistaking him as being her father.

Her father.  There was the root of all his troubles!  Everyone venerated the old man.  His family looked to him as a prophet figure, but he was really just a stupid old man.  The world would be better off without him.  If there’d been any choice at all, he’d never have brought his family back here where he’d have to see that old man’s face every day.  It made him sick.  His wife made him sick.  His kids’ attitudes made him sick.

The old man had wanted them back here, and had offered berry picking jobs to the girls and a fence building job to his 15-year-old son.  He’d vetoed that!  Those girls were so selfish that they’d just spend all their earnings on clothes and makeup.  He’d fix their selfishness.  If they didn’t have money, they couldn’t be selfish.  It was as simple as that.  He’d pay back the $350 he’d borrowed from last year’s raspberry earnings when his daughter straightened up and saw things his way.

The old man had gotten his way.  They were all back now, but they were all about to learn how valuable he was.  He was leaving Saturday.  They all thought it would be for just a couple of weeks, but it was going to be more like a couple of months, and maybe a lot longer.  He was going to leave them with nothing.  The old man would have to step in and pay the bills.  Maybe it would break him.  They’d all learn that they couldn’t get along without him.  When he came back they’d all have to acknowledge how wrong they’d been.

His crazy wife had said he’d ruined her life.  He’d made her life.  His little daughters cried and accused him of stealing their money.  It was family money, and he’d needed it.  The old man looked grim every time he saw him.  He’d show them all.  They’d miss him when he was gone.  All his virtues and everything he’d done for them would become plain once he wasn’t there for a time.

 

Saturday came.  The garden got weeded.  The reprobate returned for a brief time, but he’s gone now.  You can’t live a lie, and you can’t live with a liar.

 

The old man is gone, too.  He was taken out by a heart attack occasioned by the thoughts that consumed him.  If bitterness and hatred is at your core, it makes no difference whether you’re right or wrong; the Spirit can’t abide with you.

 

“Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that

forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord;

 for there remaineth in him the greater sin.

“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive,

but of you it is required to forgive all men.”  (D&C 64:9-10).