Prayer to keep a quiet heart; Elizabeth Elliot

YHWH, we give Thanks for all that You, in Your mercy, have given us to be, and to do, and to have. Deliver us, YHWH, from all greed to be, and to do, and to have anything not in accord with Your Holy purposes. Gently teach us to rest quietly in Your Promise to supply, recognizing that if we do not have it, we do not need it. Teach us to desire Your will- nothing less, nothing more, and nothing else; for Yeshua’s sake.  Amen.
-Elizabeth Elliot, To Keep A Quiet Heart, page 126.

Forsythia Wars

   This morning, I decided that I was going to 'tame' my gangly forsythia bushes. So, I grabbed an ax, and the loppers, and set out. I dragged the boys with me to help haul off the trimmings.  They disserted after about 20 minutes.

Have you ever tackled 'let go', overgrown, forsythia bushes? It's an experience. You have to 'get into them;‘  bodily.
A half hour into the job, I was deep into the thick of them and asking myself why I thought i didnt need the gloves. !
I did this job last year, too, but this year?  This year they got sneaky! I was standing in, and on  branches running along the ground growing roots! and more branches!
I tugged on a wee little thing, thinking it wouldn’t be too much trouble, and pulled  up root systems that were like, 5 feet long, EACH!
Oh, and then, there are the- tangles.  *ugh.  You have this branch in your face, so you grab it and tug to see where it's coming from. -- Sure, you could snip everything individually, but you'd be snipping hundreds to thousands of times and getting no where.  So, I would trace the lil buggars to their 'mother branch' and snip THAT one.
   This one's “mother branch/” was in a whole other cluster!  This puppy (branch)was like 7 feet long!  And they don’t just grow out all convenient like.  NOOOOOO, that would be too,- uh, “convenient.“    These things are better together woven than a wicker basket from wal-mart! So tracing the “babies” down to the “Mother branch” becomes obstacle course, meets Twister, meets Command and Conquer.

I’m  yanking on this branch, trying to pull it lose when, - WHAP! another one breaks loose and slaps me across the face and left eye. *my hand flies up, and I clinch my jaws against stifle the words that spring forth,  and I’m  doing the  !#@%?! Jig.

I suck it up and jump back in, cutting here and whacking and hacking there;  I’m sweating,  I don’t even notice,- until it runs into my eye.  *yah,  THAT eye.
*and I’m back to doing the !@#%?!  Jaw clinching “ow! Ow!  Owww.” shuffle again.

After a good pout, I’m burried in branches again, bent in half and concentrating so hard on what I‘m doing, the first “buzz“ doesn’t even  register.  I’m just about literally stuck in these bushes, this whole thing is taking way longer than it should have, and I just want  this “done already!“   I AM a girl, so, If I stopped to think about all the bugs that are probably millimeters away from this crazy woman hacking up their homes and hidey holes, I’d run away; so, I don’t think about it.   But, there’s this weird little feeling niggling around in the back of my mind.  You know,  that ‘feeling,” like something isn’t quite right?  Like a buzz and a hiss that’s a bit louder than it should be, and a movement you don’t quite catch?
You. Are.  Focused!   You’re jamming.  Your buried in bushes, and you can see the progress by the pile of branches you’re making, even if you can’t see a difference in the forsythia forest proper.  So, you ignore that little niggling thing.

Bent in half, leaning on some branches here, pressing others back there with whatever free body part, loppers in hand, hovering just above the ground, I move in to snip one of the ‘mother branches’ when, -

My cat jumps onto my head/neck from outta no where, a cicadae buzzing in her mouth; which she drops, and which falls INTO my shirt while I’m flailing to get her off me.

*these next things are somewhat of a blur ~

I pause in my flailing; something  Is right, while something else I cant put my finger on, Isn’t  right.  Branches have bitten into me, - but not too badly; the cat is off my head, -  just then, the ‘very peeved’ cicadae buzzes in my bra.    Anyone that knows me  Knows that I “whoop”- like a blast of staccato scream when startled.
 I am OUT of the bushes in an age and physics defying leap I could not repeat if you paid me; and  I’m thrashing around like a mad woman, hand jammed down shirt, digging around frantically for the buzzing demon in my bra, body twisting in spins and jerks.  Shirt goes up, hand leaping around. He’s not staying still.  He knows he will meet his maker if I get a hold of him. Shirt goes over this way, jump twist, spinning yank; All while I’m moving like a dog chasing his tail and growl mumbling words that shouldn’t be repeated, and prayers for deliverance, behind clinched teeth

*note*  While this is going on, I’m not hearing a Thing going on around me.(would you?)

I’m sure im fairly alone in my tormented tantrum, when,- a deep voice sounds off from about 30 feet away;  slightly behind me and alittle to the left.
“WHAT IS IT!?”

I freeze(resorting to wiggling and gripping) It’s my neighbor. He’s in the ravine between our two properties. He’s a first responder and volunteer firefighter.  I can tell by his voice that if I don’t answer quickly, and do it calmly, …he’s comin’ over!

I’m not exactly the picture of modesty at this point. One arm is out of its sleeve, with shirt and bra in tightly twisted grip.  My shirt is hiked up awkwardly; part empty, part full, all wrong. My other arm, jammed up under the hem of shirt and bra, pulls out to yank downward on material-  attempting to cover Something. ANYTHING.

  Thinking I have the offender cornered, I clutch that area of my brassier, HARD.  He buzzes in protest. I jump. Clinching my teeth, and slapping a smile in my voice,  I answer.
“Buzz.  Buzz Buzz“. - goes the trapped beastie.

“SORRY!! Sorry!  ITS OK!   It’s just a-”  big buzz! Crunching grip.  “bug!”
   I hear the neighbor ‘harumph,“ leaves and fallen branches crunching in his stomping away.  I’m sure getting ‘out’ of the ravine was harder than getting ‘in.’  Poor guy.

   Back to business. One hand blocking the buzzy besties escape route, the “free” hand in the middle of my everything, I  wiggle and maneuver;  but, I can NOT get this bug Out of my bra. It’s  built well;  too well.  The materials are twisted in such a way that the ‘lip’ of material he is hiding behind is too high to dig him out!
I take a deep breath, yank hard with the material clinching hand, and scotch my fingertips under him.  He’s a bit mangled from my ‘heartfelt embraces.”  I try not to weebie jeebie until he’s all the way out.

Once he’s clear of the materials, I give him  a hardy, ”See ya! ” flick of my fingers;  catching him under his rear end and flinging him on his way.

Readjusting my breathing, and my shirt and bra,  I trudge back into the bushes; on a mission. I AM GOING TO FINISH!  * a little, “neither beating sun,  nor biting branches, nor giant buzzing beasties shall stay this woman from deftly conquering these bushes.” thing sounds off in my head.

   An hour later, I trudge into the house, dirt shmeared,  squinky-eyed,  cat encroached, bug sullied, scratches, scrapes and all.

The guy from NY that’s staying with us for awhile says. “Wow; you look like you’ve been in a fist fight with the sun, and lost!”  he chuckles

I smirk a sarcastic ‘gee, thanks’ and head for water.  My head is throbbing, but, I’m feeling fantastic, every way but physically.
  I gulp about half a gallon of water and head for shower, and soap, and shampoo, …and fresh towels, and oils, and lotions,- and….Anything, Bug-less, Stick-less, Sweat-less, and Dirt-less.
   © ~Zeal J.L.T.  2006