This afternoon I’m raking leaves (I know, it’s a Sunday, and my grandpa’s turning over in his grave, but it has to get done). I hate raking leaves. It usually starts out ok — I fire up the big leaf blower and get all those dry oak leaves on the main part of the yard into a few big piles. I feel like I’m getting lots done. But then comes the hard part. I strap on the backpack blower and head into the brush and trees at the edge of the property, vainly hoping to clear out those damp clumps that cling to the forsythia and pachasandra. It takes forever and I never get it looking really clean.
In some ways this reminds me of spiritual growth. It’s easy, sometimes, to make quick progress on some “big” issue — I avoid getting drunk or saying curse words frequently or flat-out lying. But it’s those pesky things stuck to the underbrush that take the real work. The subtle lack of faith reflected in anxious thoughts, the envy reflected in a reluctance to celebrate others’ successes, the anger over past hurts nursed deep down. These are the places where the seasonal clean-up takes patience and time, and is never really finished.