Einstein's Grass
I found this piece I wrote when we lived in Richmond, VA fifteen years ago. I dusted off some grammar and details. . .
Einstein once said that, “Science without religion is meaningless.” I've got to believe that this statement came from him trying to grow grass in his own yard. Growing grass is an endeavor which requires both a great deal of science and a great deal of hope. It requires science, because of the many variables that can ruin the “experiment.” It requires hope, because—despite all the work in the fall and early spring—we are still at the mercy of nature to see if everything will still be alive in mid-July.
I love the way a yard looks in the fall just before the leaves start falling and in the spring when everything begins growing again. There is nothing more satisfying than a yard full of green, green grass. And until I reach that point, I will continue to admire neighbors with full-time lawn services!
We have a lot of differing opinions on our cul-de-sac regarding the best method of growing grass. Across the street from us, one neighbor has Bermuda grass. It's brown for nine months of the year, and the maintenance on it is very low—except for the divots from my neighbor’s chipping wedge. Another neighbor swears that putting Peat Moss on freshly spread seed in the fall is the key to a green lawn in the spring. That may be so, but Peat didn’t like it very much and eventually went back to his house.
Some of my neighbors know I’m in the ministry—but they’re not exactly sure what I do. I keep a pretty low profile, but my grass gives me away. That's because I have Christian grass—full of grace. I don't spend too much time on my grass, but for the past couple of years it has really fared well amidst chickweed, dandelions, drought, and three small children who think the grass is the off-road track for their Power Wheels jeep and bulldozer.
My next door neighbor cannot understand this phenomenon. In the past three years, he has done the following: completely tilled up the soil and replanted grass each year, enlisted the help of the agricultural experts at Virginia Tech, bought every kind of fertilizer and grass food known to man, and put me to shame in how his grass looks in the fall when his new seed sprouts. However, by mid-summer, his entire lawn looks like a giant khaki-colored carpet.
The experts keep telling him that he has a fungus. He keeps asking them why my grass doesn't catch the same fungus since we are right next to each other. I keep telling him that as long as his dog keeps dropping #2s in MY yard, God will continue to curse HIS. (OK, I haven't told him that, but I want to.) Really though, I know the truth.
The truth is that he's really not doing a bunch wrong and i'm not doing everything right. The truth is that based on the amount of work put in, my yard should be a dustbowl and his a rain forest. I’m thankful for my yard, though. Because every time I walk out the door and every time I cut the grass I am reminded of God's infinite supply of grace in our lives. I am reminded that His power is made perfect in our weakness. And I’m reminded that the story of grace is what next door neighbors long to hear and know.
