The other day, in an attempt to get some distance between me and the traumatic event now forever etched in my brain as General Conference 2012, I decided to brave the Texas heat and work on my flowerbeds and ideas for the lawn. Isisas Barrario, my faithful landscape and lawn man for over eight years, stood by me in the heat as we discussed what to do about the yard. It’s important to know that when Isisas and I first met, I was single, working toward tenure and couldn’t have cared less about my yard except I wanted it cut and to look good—which meant he had the run of the yard. Now, married with a bigger yard and in a nicer neighborhood, I have become more involved. (Gender roles are very hard to break sometime, but that’s another column).
As we looked at the deck, I told him that I saw some nails popping out and that he should get the carpenter to fix them and then get the deck painted. He said, “My friend, the earth around the deck has changed. The sun and rain have taken their toll. It is warped and nailing it won’t fix the problem—the structure is bad. You must tear it down if you want it to do any good.” A gardener had become a prophet right before my eyes and ears.
Click here for the rest of Maria Dixon Hall's commentary.