Poison ivy strikes AGAIN

     A few weeks ago when the weather started to turn warm, my hands were itching to get into the gardens. I started to garden with a vengeance but at the same time I was very hesitant. I did not want a repeat of last year. Maybe you remember my blog post from last summer of "you know that you have poison ivy when..."
A few years ago my poison ivy was so bad that I didn't dare go out in public and considered buying a head covering. The poison ivy was under my chin and the worse thing is that I don't get normal poison ivy. It blisters and oozes and requires gauze; just terrible. When the poison ivy was under my chin, I looked like a billy goat; a very pathetic site.
So, as you can see, I have a fear of poison ivy that is well justified.
When I started gardening this spring I was on guard for this horrible, invasive weed that causes much grief. I studied each weed before I pulled it and had "leaves of three, let them be" going through my head.
I started to feel pretty good about myself because of my vigilance in searching out the poison ivy. I even started to become self-righteous and had an analogy to go along with all of this.
 I really should  put as much energy fighting sin and fleeing temptation as I put into being on guard for poison ivy. I should be constantly aware of every little sin that enters my heart and weed it out.
 As this was going through my thoughts, I became aware of an idol in my heart, and that was an idol of physical comfort. I like to feel good and have energy. I don't like being thirsty or hungry. My circumstances dictate my joy. This all became a matter of prayer but my prayer quickly changed when I discovered three little raised spots in a line on my leg. Please let them be bug bites. The next day my leg was red, inflamed, spots had spread and the itching was driving me crazy. My circumstances were causing me distress and I was not joyful at all. Miserable.
So here I sit with my leg elevated to decrease the swelling and wondering how to end this blog post. Andrew just walked by, took a disgusted look at my leg and told me that it looks like I am dying. I am not sure what to be more concerned about- my constant itching, or the fact that my son thinks that I am dying and walked away.