Before you go to envy, consider this

This essay was first published on The Daily BS on March 15, 2025.

Over 20 years ago, we moved from a city lot the size of a potholder to a three-acre plot in the country. “They need more dirt under ‘em,” I said to my husband, pointing to our three young boys waist deep in the pantry. And dirt they got.

Believing that hard work builds character, we immediately set about plowing a spot for a large garden. “They’ve got two opposable thumbs apiece,” I said. “They can pull some weeds.” And pull they did.

The caterwauling could be heard in Tupelo. “Dear Labor Commissioner,” went their little letters written in Crayola. Our mom is a slavedriver.” Not one to be deterred, I kept chasing them back out to the garden because, well, character. Every so often, I’d toss some Oreos their way, and they’d quickly forget their angst. (The British could have learned a thing or two from me about quelling a peasant rebellion. I’m just saying.)

Anyway. All of this comes back to me now with the return of the springtime sun. Very soon, the buds will appear on the trees, daffodils will unfurl, and the locals will be planting gardens again. Which means those darn weeds will be back. If one is not ruthless in eliminating them, they take over the entire plot, choking out the vegetables and summer fruits ripening in the summer sun.

There are many lessons for life to be found in a garden. Just as weeds appear in the soil, they appear, too, in the garden of the heart. If they are not ruthlessly eliminated, they take over large sections of the heart, choking out the life and light that one once carried.

One of those weeds is envy. According to Aristotle, envy is pain at the sight of another’s good fortune, stirred by “those who have what we ought to have.”

It begins as a tiny weed, and it sprouts in the soil of comparison. We look over the neighbor’s fence, so to speak, and we check his garden out. Whether it’s talent, intelligence, possessions, achievements, wealth, or fame, the trouble begins when we compare and find our own “crops” wanting. We measure our lives by how someone else’s appears, and just like that, it begins.

Envy, I’ve found, is a relationship inhibitor. It is hard to love someone whom we envy, for envy breeds resentment. Resentment unchecked turns sour and bitter, and it renders connection impossible. Oh, the misery this horrid weed ushers in.

Appearances (remember?) can be deceiving. From our spot by the garden fence, we cannot see everything. Those plants that look so lush and spreading may be hiding the beginnings of blight at the stalk. The tomatoes that blush red in the sun may be riddled with bugs or fat, green worms. Sometimes, not all is as it appears, either in the garden or in someone else’s life. The outside does not always show what’s inside.

Then there’s this. Very often, the people who have accomplished much and have achieved great success have suffered deeply. Those who have walked through the fires of adversity and refused to quit are the ones who accomplish what few ever do. If we could know the price that others have paid, we would fall on our knees and thank God for sparing us, and we would throw our arms around them in gladness, happy for their success.

This is the response of the mature soul, for rejoicing in the triumphs of others is a mark of maturity and character. It opens the way for connection and warm, fulfilling relationships. In shared happiness, our joys are multiplied, and our sorrows are divided.

It is not enough to simply pull weeds. We must be busy planting what is good. We can sow contentment. We can cultivate gratitude. We can plant a crop called appreciation, knowing that the fruit of these will be sweet. As I tell my own sons, “We always reap what we sow, and we always reap more than what we sow.”

What we plant in the soil of our hearts will come up. There will be no hiding what’s been sown in secret, for it always and ever will bloom. If we are not happy with what we are reaping, then there’s time for us to uproot and replant.

Recently, my youngest son and resident teenager came to kiss me goodnight. “Mom,” he said, blue eyes peering at me through his spectacles, “I’ve been practicing what you taught me. Whenever I do something wrong, I just turn and look at Jesus. I say, ‘I’m sorry,’ and it keeps me from spiraling into unnecessary guilt and shame.”

What an incredible thing for a young man to learn. At the tender age of 18, he is learning how to keep his garden clean and free of weeds, and he is learning to walk in peace. Meanwhile, he is sowing seeds of love, of faith, of kindness, and already we can see the fruit.

If my son can learn to live a life of peace, so can you, and so can I. We can keep our hearts free of envy and enjoy the harvest that love and faith will always bring. Such a harvest will never disappoint.

You can listen to the weekly conversation with Bo Snerdley and America’s small, caffeinated mom every Saturday morning on 77 WABC.