A False Sense of Responsibility

I sometimes feel what I believe is “a false sense of responsibility.” I don’t know whether that problem arises from my possessing an over-active, self-imposed burden to influence people to trust in God or from my experiencing a natural control-freak problem.

I seem to need to figure out quite often whether a situation needs my influence or if that situation is a challenge only God can handle. Of course, there are probably things God needs me to help with and then leave the results to him. Is my need to take on too much responsibility an actual lack of trust in God?

A false sense of responsibility can spawn from a big ego. On the other hand, a “woe is me; I have no influence and am helpless” ego-response may be just as bad. And many of us may respond in both of those ways at different times. Some of us occasionally may lapse into I-don’t-care attitudes in order to feel released from responsibility.

It sort of worries me that I’m not trying very hard to figure out why I have a false sense of responsibility. But, if I’m not trying to determine if I have a problem with taking on responsibilities I shouldn’t concern myself with, then maybe I really don’t have a false sense of responsibility. Hm-m-m-m. I somehow feel responsible for determining whether or not I actually have a false sense of responsibility.

(Note: I’m not responsible for writing this.)

Azaleas Are Blooming

Photo of the N.C. Azalea Festival (not sure of the year this photo was taken) 

Azaleas are blooming here in the Sandhills of North Carolina, and they stir memories in me.

When I was a child in rural South Carolina, plants and flowers seemed important to my relatives and to many people in the Greenville, S.C., area. Perhaps the love of beautiful plants reflected the agrarian backgrounds of many adult Southerners in the1950s.

We lived on a 13-acre farm. It was not much of a farm, but Dad and Mom had been raised on farms, and when Dad returned from a World War II combat stint in Germany, he wanted a little farm, though he made a living from working in a textile mill in Taylors, S.C. By the time I was 11 years old, Dad had abandoned the farm scene and moved us (Mom, my younger sister and me) to the edge of the City of Greer, S.C. Dad wanted to be near the plant where he worked at making chainsaws, lawnmowers and other outdoor tools. He worked at Homelite.

Dad and Mom valued beautiful blooming yard plants, particularly azaleas. My early impression of azaleas was that they were associated with old plantations and ladies in evening gowns. Perhaps I saw such images in touched-up photographs featured in 1950s magazines. I seem to remember pale-looking, lovely ladies dressed in gowns and standing beside azaleas that sported white and pink blossoms.

I like azaleas; they bloom around the same time as dogwoods, and then their fanfare and flourish is finished for the year. They do seem to be a lot of trouble for just a short time of glory.

When we moved to Southern Pines, N.C., in 1989, we bought a house with a yard loaded with azaleas. They are starting to bloom, and they take me back in memory to my first impressions of the Old South. The Old South has faded, but it won’t be totally gone until azaleas lose their popularity.

I’ve promised myself that I’ll trim my azaleas a good bit this year. Most of them are getting pretty “leggy” and gangly-looking. You’re supposed to trim azaleas right after they bloom. Why did the old couple who built our house in 1970 want so many azaleas in their yard? The weather’s getting hotter and ticks are coming out. And we live on a wooded lot with lots of pine trees. And snakes might be awakening from their winter hibernations and coming out to lie hidden among overgrown bushes and plants. Maybe I’ll let our azaleas go another year before trimming them.

My Mom and Dad are both “gone on.” They would probably be aghast at how my azaleas are looking. Mom kept hers pretty nice. Photos of Southern ladies standing next to trimmed and neat azaleas still reside in my head.