The owner's servants came to him and said, 'Sir, didn't you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?' “No,” he answered, “because while you are pulling the weeds, you may root up the wheat with them.
My husband walked in the front door ahead of me, all the while dropping black dirt on the carpet. Looking over his shoulder, he said sheepishly, "I just had to get those weeds out of the front."
I followed and picked up pieces of mulch, then went into the kitchen to throw away the sticks. As I dropped the refuse into the white plastic bag, I noticed inside sprawled below were tiny plants, ones which I’d nurtured and admired in their infancy for several weeks in a sunny spot by the front door.
"Honey, those ‘weeds’ you just pulled up are the baby perennial Gaillardia that have those huge, gorgeous yellow flowers in the summer!" I yelled.
Okay, I’m going to admit it: I was more than a little bit ticked off.
"Oops," my husband muttered, dropping his shoulders.
Not mollified, I said, "I can’t believe you pulled out my flowers."
"I’m an excellent weed puller," Dan stated with wry humor.
I reached into the garbage can, dusted off the black dirt, and gently rescued the plants. Fortunately, their root systems still were intact, with minimal damage to the leaves, so I picked them up and transported them back to the flower bed posthaste.
What looked like a weed to my husband was my prized perennial. I wondered how often I make the same mistake with people and let a rough exterior hide the beauty that can blossom with maturity and sunshine from God’s point of view.
"From now on, before I do any more pulling, I’m going to check more carefully," Dan said.
Me too, and I made sure to show Dan where I’d transplanted the babies.