Ring-a-round the Rosie, A pocketful of posies…
I pick bouquets of posies several times a day. You’ll note from the photo that my posies aren’t soft, fragrant, or belong anywhere near my pocket. Ouch! I’d love to rarely see them; discovery an unusual occurrence.
Never would be better.
Little evils sneak in no matter how hard you work to eliminate them. Vigilance is the only positive response. No matter what else you’re doing, when you see one, attack. Don’t shrink. Armor up.
There will, of course, always be another lurking.
The little devils used to irritate me. Evil, when it sensed my vexation, giggled.
Glee? That was hardly the response I hoped for. Terror would be acceptable. Wouldn’t it be gratifying if evil feared you?
I needed a new strategy.
Then the seventy returned with joy, saying, “Lord, even the demons are subject to us in Your name.” – Luke 10:17
When I see a posy I pluck it. Commitment to posy-plucking is 100%. No matter what you believe about casting out spiritual demons, giving in to them is not an option. You must engage. Challenge. Win battles. There are no sidelines. You either fight to win or give in.
Little Evils Sneak In
This is the second year we have grass on our northwest bank. After rehoming the goats we cleared the area, made improvements for easier maintenance, and planted grass. The area is large, irregular, and partially sloped so we hydro-seeded. I refuse to believe I paid for posy propagation. Where they came from remains a mystery.
The pasture has a few posies. Much is virgin ground, buried shelf rock preventing farming or improved grasses. The crop on the northwest bank is watered along with the grass so is healthy and vibrant.
The photo reflects a small bouquet from the bank. The fourth (so far) today. Changing sun angles reveal posies I didn’t see the last time I crossed the grass to change the sprinkler. Every trip spotlights more of the little darlin’s. I pluck them with a smile. Sometimes with a tiny chortle of glee.
Most people hoping to rid themselves of evil remove every possible trace. It would be best to dig up the offending plants, but there are several complications when it comes to my posy-problem.
The ground is like concrete.
Evil Hides Among the Good
Posy grass disguises itself as precious types, the ones I paid for and loving tended until established. Posy pedestals hide, twist, and wander. Before plucking, I trace the sticker to the blade of grass or stem supporting it. It’s seldom the obvious one. Sometimes you get the sticker and not the stem. Ouch again.
Every score a posy makes increases my resolve. The posy joins the bouquet. Back-fired! I chuckle. Evil hates being laughed at. Belittled. Minimized. Plucked.
On rare occasions when the ground is workable posy plants hide within the boundary of beneficial plants. Dig up one and you dig up the other.
I get a mental image of nasty little posies sticking out their tongues with posy thumbs stuck in posy ears wiggling posy fingers at me. Laughing at me. Baiting me. Claiming victory.
Not. On. My. Watch.
Bouquets are usually displayed in vases. Not my posies. Once carefully gathered they’re pitched into an empty feed sack for a one-way trip to the dump. They live in darkness. Discarded. Alone. Removed. Buried in a heap of trash. Posies in a putrid garden.
Quite fitting, don’t you think? That sweet thought brings another smile.
Life is a Series of Transformations
There will always be little evils in this world. It isn’t Eden. You can’t eliminate them completely. Adopt an offensive posture. See the posy, pluck it. Laugh at it. Consider each addition to your bouquet a mini-victory.
Instead of shrinking from tiny terrors, make them recoil in fear.
If you know how the little fiends gain entrance, shut the door. If not, make them fight for existence. Claim victory over your home one square inch at a time. Force evil to retreat.
Beasts hide and masquerade. They wrap tendrils around that which is good. Even if you can’t completely choke them out, you can out-stubborn them into temporary submission.
Every posy bouquet is a small triumph.
You’re a child of the Most High. Daughter of the King. You have the power of His Spirit in you. Transform the delight of giggling mini-devils into soon-to-be-silenced pre-compost.
As I wrote this post the phone rang. Flower delivery? The second bouquet someone’s sent to me in years. Happy coincidence? I think not.