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If you walk out of our church lobby and hang a left under the awning you'll see him. He sits there amidst yards and yards of concrete. He's a hardy little fellow snugly fitted into a tight crevice. Despite the blistering heat emanating from the driveway and being too far removed from any functional sprinkler to get life-giving water, amazingly, he grows. Yes, I said "he" because I've decided to call him "Terry." It's a nickname from his longer agricultural moniker, pteridophyte. Most folks just call him a weed.
Don't think I have given him a nickname out of affection. Terry is not my pet. I do not talk to Terry. I do not like Terry. He is unwanted. But, none of this seems to bother him. He's way too tough for that. He doesn't care if he's unpopular. He has no deep insecurity that makes him crave for acceptance. Instead he is totally confident in whom he is, what he can do and why he should do it. What Terry wants is foremost on his Terry's
mind. His agenda is urgent: survival and propagation. He does what weeds do best -- live long enough to make more weeds.
I see Terrys all over the place. My backyard butts up against an arroyo (that's a fancy Spanish word for a wash) that hasn't seen rain in months but both sides are so cluttered with Terrys that the city of Simi has to send in a crew with terrywackers and herbicide. When the crew neglects its duties the Terrys can grow to giant size, break off and then they like to roll around in the wind. I think they call them "Tumbleterrys."
I see Terrys everywhere. Cyberspace is filled with them. They slip their spores into people's personal computers and find the tiniest nooks and crannies. There they grow and eventually they infect other operating systems and networks. No matter how much computer Round-up you've
already sprayed in there more, will be needed. PC weeds are tenacious and ruin many a hard worker's day.
I look around and see another covered landscape where Terrys proliferate. This kind of weed doesn't have a twelve-lettered name. No, its name is only three letters long. Can you guess this one's name? I'll give you a hint. The landscape is called Morality. Another hint? It has to do with males and it has to do with females. Yep, its s-e-x. There is hardly anywhere in our culture here in California where these Terrys haven't taken over. They've choked out the God-ordained, beautiful flowers of monogamous, conjugal love.
Let me close with a fable. A tenant farmer had worked hard for many years to improve the production of the land. Then something happened that caused him to become very bitter. When it was time to renew his lease, the owner told him he was going to sell the farm to his son who was getting married. The tenant made several generous offers to buy it himself, hoping the man's decision would be reversed. But it was all in vain. As the
day drew near for the farmer to vacate his home, his weeks of angry brooding finally got the best of him. He gathered seeds from some of the most pesky and noxious weeds he could find. Then he spent many hours scattering them on the clean, fertile soil of the farm, along with a lot of trash and stones he had collected. To his dismay, the very next morning the owner informed him that plans for his son's wedding had fallen through, and therefore he would be happy to renew the lease. The owner couldn't understand why the farmer exclaimed in agonizing tones, "Oh, Lord, what a fool I've been!"
The morals of this story are clear: One, where there is no marriage between a man and a woman, the land will be ruined. Two, whatever we sow, we will eventually reap (Galatians 6:7-8).
John S. McCranie IV is the preaching minister at the Simi Valley Church of Christ. He spent four in the U.S. Coast Guard and later graduated from the Center for Christian Education in Dallas, Texas, in 1986. He and his lovely wife, Becky, have been married for 22 years and have two teenage sons; Johnny, and Matthew. See his website at http://www.mccranie.org.
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