"Why Not Do It Right?"

We moved to the small town of Elkton, Michigan the summer before fifth grade. My dad, who grew up on a farm, was thrilled to be back in farm country. He planted what felt like the world's largest garden and made it crystal clear that my sister and I would be helping with the weeding.

Let me tell you - I hated weeding, especially on hot days. The sun would beat down mercilessly with no trees for shade anywhere. Hunched over on your hands and knees, dirt spraying up around you when you yanked them out, bugs crawling around in the dirt--pulling weeds felt like torture. Those rows of sweet corn, lettuce, and tomatoes seemed to stretch on forever.

One afternoon, Dad told me I had to finish the job before supper time. I kept stalling until he finally said, "No more putting this off - get out there now and get your weeding done." I put my book down and stomped outside, grumpy and resentful, yanking weeds halfheartedly while thinking, "I don't care if this looks terrible."

Then something shifted. I paused and looked back at the sloppy work I'd done. And a lightbulb went off: "Dad's going to check this when I'm finished. He'll see all the weeds I missed and make me do it over. I might even miss dinner."

Just then, a gentle breeze cooled my sweaty face. I paused and noticed how beautiful the day actually was and thought, "Why not just do this right the first time? I'm already here. I could take a few more minutes to do it properly and be done with it." (I believe this wisdom had been shared MULTIPLE times by both of my parents, but seriously, it was the first time it connected to my brain.)

So I went back to the beginning and started over. This time, I really looked at the dirt, the corn, the different weeds. I felt those occasional breezes. When I called Dad over to inspect my work, I could tell he expected the worst. But as we walked down that row together, he grew quiet, then started smiling.

"You did such a wonderful job," he said. "I don't see a single weed you missed. Nicely done."

My dad, so proud of his tomatoes.

My heart soared. That's when it hit me: I actually had a choice about my attitude. I could either stay stuck in my negative feelings or I could shift to a different perspective. The task wouldn't change, but how I experienced it could be completely different.

This simple garden lesson has stayed with me all these years. Just recently, I found myself caught in standstill traffic. That familiar irritation started creeping in, and then I caught myself. "This traffic isn't going to move any faster because I'm annoyed. What if I just accept this moment, put on some beautiful music, and look for something interesting outside my window?"

The moment I made that decision, I felt a smile spread across my face. I wasn't in a hurry. There was nothing urgent waiting at home. So why not use this unexpected pause in my day to choose to experience something pleasant?

Have you noticed moments like this in your own life? Times when you realized the situation wouldn't budge, but your response could shift everything? Maybe it was a long line at the grocery store, a delayed flight, or a rainy day that ruined your plans.

This garden lesson taught me something profound: while we can't always choose what happens to us, we can always choose how we show up for it. This isn't just positive thinking - it's about recognizing the reality of our inner freedom.

Truth isn't just about facts outside ourselves; it's also about honestly seeing the choices available to us in any moment.