You read in my last post about how I started clearing my back garden of weeds.  And not plain ordinary weeds that are like 4- inches high that pull up easily.  Nope.  6 feet tall with vines and thorns, (and bears, oh my!).

After the first day, I had a nice big hole in the garden.  Virtually that entire section was nothing but weeds.  And after I cleared it, I remembered I had an idea of what I was going to do in the spot like 3 years ago, and then wanted some time to “think about it”.  I guess I took too long, because the weeds took advantage of the vast empty space and filled it.

But here's the thing.  It wasn't completely empty.  I actually found buried treasure.  Shasta daisies

(c) Kathleen Thompson I didn't get all the weeds out.

A hydrangea bush

(c) Kathleen Thompson

And a day lily called peppermint stick.

(c) Kathleen Thompson. Isn't it a beauty?

They had been completely hidden by the vines, thorn bushes, and 6 foot-tall weeds that had covered the space.  And I didn't see them at first because I was so focused on the work and the hole I'd created.

I don't know how they survived.  Some were a bit stunted from lack of sun and having to compete for soil nutrients.  But survive they did.  And looked beautiful amid the otherwise bare earth.

Once I saw these flowers, I started thinking.  And learned three things that day.

1. Hope.  As I cleared out, all I saw were the weeds and the hole.  Neither were a pretty sight.  It was pretty tiring to keep going and see the results.  Because as much as seeing a big hole was progress compared to a tangle of weeds, it wasn't exactly a garden, was it? Unless the garden was meant to just be dirt.  But finding those few plants buried underneath the weeds gave me a lift.  They gave me hope.  That yes, this can look like a garden eventually.  Seeing them raised my spirits and reminded me why I'm doing this.
2. Resilience.  The plants reminded me that we can withstand some pretty unforgiving circumstances and still thrive. Like I say, I don't know how they managed it, but the fact that they didn't die is a testament to their resilience.  That reminds me to build my resilience so I can thrive in difficult circumstances too.
3. Unexpected beauty.  The plants weren't any less beautiful just because I didn't see or notice them.  They were still beautiful even when I didn't tell them they were.  They just were.  It's part of who they are.  And they are precious to God.

You and I are too.  We're fearfully and wonderfully made.  Beautiful.  Whether anyone notices it or not.  Whether our beauty is out for everyone to see or hidden under a pile of weeks.  The beauty's still there.

These plants reminded me of hope.  Resilience.  And beauty.  I guess there's a good reason why I tackled this project after all.

Have you worked on something that seemed tedious and taught you unexpected lessons?  Share in the comments.