Guns and Lawn Mowers

If people in heaven can see what's going on down here on earth, I know that my sweet old Daddy is shaking his head and saying, "Sam, Sam ... I taught you better than to mow a yard that way." Daddy wasn't picky about a lot of things, but he was more than choosy about the way a yard was supposed to be mowed ... precise rows, always starting and ending in the same place, the clippings thrown back against the uncut grass so that they were mowed again when you made the next pass. And honestly, I think that's the way I've always mowed the yards of every house I've lived in ... until tonight. Yep, tonight, I broke tradition and did two things differently as I mowed the yard, and I felt guilty when I did and still feel guilty even now. Guilty ... now that's an emotion I know all too well ... all too well indeed. But again, I digress ... back to my rebellious mowing experience from earlier this evening.

I'm not sure how long I've had my current lawn mower, but I know it's got to be at least six or seven years since I purchased it at Home Depot. And I must say, it has been the best mower I've ever owned ... it must be, because I've never had to do one thing to it other than put gas and oil in it, no repairs, no maintenance, nothing. Yeah, yeah, I know ... probably not the smartest move, eh? But so far, my theory of "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," has worked out just fine ... at least where my mower is concerned anyway. But this evening when I started mowing, my beloved and trusted old Toro kept sputtering and dying over and over again. We're supposed to have thunderstorms tonight, and my yard really needed mowing, so you can imagine my frustration as I cranked the mower time and time again only to have it run for a few minutes before it would sputter and shut off. After about 30 minutes of tugging on the ropey thingy to start it (and my use of those two words ropey and thingy only solidifies the truth that I'm the least mechanical person in the universe), I had one of those light bulb moments. I thought perhaps the reason the mower kept dying was because the blade was getting clogged with grass, so I made a quick decision to mow a different way. I'm sorry, Daddy, but for the first time in my life I didn't mow back over the clippings. And when I changed my mowing style, my red Toro chugged along like a trooper and never quit another time.

As I pushed the mower into the garage after I finished mowing, a smile crossed my face as I patted the handle on the red machine and said, "Good job, old boy ... you lived to mow another day. I promise I'll never do to you what I did to the old green mower ... promise." You see, not long after my divorce I had a big encounter with a mower, a green mower that my ex-husband left behind when he moved out. That mower was the biggest piece of junk ever ... half the time, I couldn't get it to start and would end up having to ask my neighbor to help me get it going. And then the wheel fell off. And the handle broke. And I had to have a new ropey thingy put on it. And it had to have new spark plugs. And then one day as I was mowing, dark black smoke started pouring out of the engine ... and that was the final straw. I didn't kick the mower or throw a fit or let fly a stream of four-letter words ... I calmly walked into my house, went upstairs and got the pistol my ex had left on the top shelf of the closet, walked outside and shot the lawn mower. Then I put it on the curb for the trash guy to pick up and headed to Home Depot to buy another mower. Yep ... I shot the old green lawn mower, and I don't have even a tiny shred of remorse or guilt about it.

Now before any of you flip out and think I'm a crazy woman, let me assure you that the day I shot the mower is the only time in my whole life I've ever fired a gun. In fact, I hate guns ... hate them, hate them, hate them, and unless someone was threatening one of my children or my granddaughter, I'm sure that I'll never fire a gun again. As to why I shot the mower ... here's the conclusion I've come to after all these years ... that mower represented so many of the things I had done in my life to try to be someone other than who I was. Back then, I was so angry ... I was so incredibly angry with myself for more things than you can even begin to imagine. That green lawn mower was me ... all it needed to do was mow the stupid yard like all the other mowers in the neighborhood ... all it needed to do was be a mower and it was a miserable failure at the very thing it should have been able to do.

The people who have decided to love me in spite of who I am keep reminding me that I've come a long way over the last few months, and tonight as I climbed out of the shower, I couldn't help but think that perhaps they may be at least a little bit correct. I know I'm not OK yet, but I do think I'm making progress, slow though it may be. I mean, come on ... not once when my mower was sputtering and dying tonight did I even consider shooting it ... not once. That's gotta mean something, right? What I hope it means is that with every passing day, I'm letting go of a little more of that self-hate ... that I'm believing a little more that God loves me ... that I'm trusting a little more that He has a plan for me ... that I'm loving the people who mean so very much to me a whole lot more than I ever have before.