The beast of a shrub had bothered me for quite some time. In fact, for the past couple of years. During the growing season, its branches spread out into the pathway, forcing me to walk around it. It grew too large for the space where I planted it and dominated a large area of my small garden bed, limiting options for other plants to grow. In other words, it was hogging up my garden.

Periodically, I seriously considered digging it up, but its autumn beauty–the brilliant, almost-luminescent, bright red leaves, dissuaded me . . . that and its unusual square-shaped branches, unlike most typical round ones. In layman’s terms, it is called a Burning Bush, referencing the Bible story when God appeared to Moses in a bush that burned but was never consumed. In truth, that reference is probably why I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it.

When I noticed the sucker roots coming up far removed from the base trunk, I knew I had to let go of the visible reminder of Moses and God. The situation wasn’t going to improve with time.

The question was: How large of a project would it be to dig it out? I mulled the issue. I could hire my grandgirl’s boyfriend. I knew he could uproot it in no time at all. Did I know any boys in the neighborhood who would be inclined to do physical labor for a few dollars? I stood at my window day after day, giving the Beast an honest assessment. I finally decided I could do it! At least I could try.

Tools in tow, including a shovel and a pickax, I addressed the culprit. First, I cut all of its branches down to stubs, with the tallest around three feet tall. I then began digging a distance out from the trunk, creating a large circle around the base. Bit by bit, I dug up feeder roots–lots of them! No, this didn’t all happen in a day. I’m not Wonder Woman, you know. 🙂 Very methodically, I worked my way around, digging up future “Baby Beasts.” I would work for a while, stop, then come back again another day. I created a good-sized circular crater, but the trunk didn’t budge–and gave no indication it ever would. By this time, I was thinking about calling the boyfriend. I knew he could do the final dirty deed with the slightest bit of effort. But no. My stubbornness took over.

I determined roots were growing straight down from the center of the trunk, and it was impossible to get to them, let alone pull out the root ball. God, I really could use some help here. A nice, strong, young man would be good.

I continued clawing away with a hoe, trying to find access to the roots I knew were holding it hostage.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Could you use some help?” I glanced up, following the sound of the voice. The gentleman standing on the sidewalk was anything but young and strong, but he was offering help. I have seen him walk by my house and yard often, on his way to and from the bus stop out front. He has a very slight build, weighing maybe 100 pounds dripping wet. Dressed in disheveled clothes, he shuffles along as though his very being is tired–tired of walking, tired of living, tired of going on. His breath smelled of alcohol, his glazed eyes presented the picture of a very sad man.

I acknowledged his offer. “That would be wonderful. But I don’t want you to miss your bus.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured me. Grabbing the shovel, he dug and dug. And dug some more. The trunk began to move, indicating progress. His bus came though, so he had to leave. I thanked him. Sadly, he expressed, “I’m just trying to find some work.” I told him I wanted to pay him for his help but had no cash on hand. I assured him if he stopped by the next day, I would have money for him.

I continued working alone in my quest to remove the Beast, making very little headway.

“Do you need some help?” I glanced up once again and this time saw a strong, young man standing on the sidewalk. Brayden lives in the neighborhood too. He is in his early twenties and seems to be a lost soul. A bit slow, he doesn’t fit in well with others his age. He spends his days walking around the neighborhood with his phone, listening to music. I have often thought there are resources available to give him employment and a sense of self-worth, but it takes a parent to seek those out. He has a cheerful and friendly demeanor but can also be needy.

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

Brayden went to work with the pickax and, before long, I was able to see the roots underneath that were holding the thing in place. I cut them in half, freeing the upper portion. Bit by bit, the Beast began to release until all that remained were the roots going straight down from the center. He pulled and pulled, and . . . the entire thing gave way, including the young man as he landed on his tush.

I thanked him profusely. “Did you know you’re an answer to prayer?” I asked.

I’m quite sure the comment took him by surprise. Actually, I was surprised as well when I heard the words come out of my mouth. But he was–an answer to my prayer. He hugged me. “I love you. I like to help my elders.” I told him the same thing I told the gentleman earlier–that I wanted to pay him but didn’t have any cash. I now have two envelopes on my front table with money waiting for them.

As I gave my experience some thought, I realized I have deliberately kept my distance from both of these neighbors. In fact, I consciously avoid them. I have offered no kindness at all to these two who are less fortunate than I–two men God brought into my world to help accomplish what I was unable to do on my own.

I haven’t finished processing all of the lessons connected to this incident, but this I do know: There are plenty of people in the world who are far less fortunate than I. Jesus ate and drank with sinners. I, on the other hand, choose those with whom I associate. Why don’t I treat people with kindness instead of superiority, regardless of their outer physical appearance? I would never treat one of my friends the way I’ve treated these two men in the past. I hope and pray I do better the next time I see them.

Why are there so many unfortunates in the world? Why have I been given so much and blessed so richly when so many others are “have-nots?” It’s easy to love the lovely. Not so easy to love those who are not. I have no answer, but I do know two who are less fortunate than I were sent to me, more than willing to help me. And in the process, to reveal my attitude . . . a personal wake-up call.

By the way, as I am writing this, Tim Gray (I realized I did not even know his name, so I introduced myself and asked) stopped by to pick up his money. He has a wonderful smile. I hope I am able to contribute more to his life in the future.