McMurry Moments

There are days when the list of things to do feels endless, yet the desire to do any of it is nowhere to be found. This was one of those mornings. I moved slowly through the house, switching laundry, straightening small things, trying to stir up some spark of motivation. As I worked, I prayed, quietly pleading for help to feel something again, to want to do the things that needed doing, to find a little mental and emotional healing in the middle of the heaviness.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was just that quiet ache of wanting to feel like myself again.

At some point, I glanced out the back window and saw the weeds I had worked so hard to clear out last year, standing tall and bold as if they had never been touched. I had sprayed them, tended to them, done everything I could to keep them away. Yet there they were, thriving in the very places I thought I had conquered.

Part of me sighed at the thought of starting over. But something nudged me to step outside anyway, just to see how difficult it would be to pull a few out.

The moment I stepped into the yard, something in me began to shift. I bent down and pulled a few weeds, expecting frustration, but instead I felt a quiet change moving through me. It wasn’t about the weeds at all. It was about being outside.

The sun warmed my shoulders. The grass carried that familiar scent of life. Birds chattered in the trees as if they had been waiting for me to join them. And in that simple, ordinary moment, I felt something loosen inside me.

It was as if the Lord had gently guided me out there, not to tackle a chore, but to breathe again. To feel the world beyond the walls of my house. To remember that healing often begins in the smallest, simplest places.

The weeds brought me outside, but the weeds were never the point. They were just the doorway. What I needed was the sunlight, the air, the grounding of my hands in the earth. I needed the reminder that sometimes the path back to motivation, clarity, or peace doesn’t come through force or willpower. Sometimes it comes through stepping outside, touching the world God made, and letting creation do what it quietly does to soften the heart and learning it wasn’t about the weeds that day!

A morning that began with heaviness and lack of motivation slowly unfolded into a quiet moment of healing. What looked like a chore of pulling weeds that had returned despite last year’s efforts had became a gentle reminder that sometimes God uses the smallest, most ordinary tasks to draw us back into the sunlight, the air, and the places where our souls can breathe again.