Ryan's Ramblings

“Keep a sharp eye out for weeds of bitter discontent. A thistle or two gone to seed can ruin a whole garden in no time. Watch out for the Esau syndrome: trading away God’s lifelong gift in order to satisfy a short-term appetite.”


— Hebrews 12:15–16 (MSG)

When I was a kid, I’d ride with my grandad as he pulled the sprayer behind the tractor. Every spring we’d drive along the ditches, hunting thistles. He’d mix the water and 2,4-D, then sit me up on the hood of the tractor and tell me to use my “good eyes” to spot the weeds. I didn’t understand why we bothered. But he knew what I didn’t—that if you let a few go to seed, you’d fight them for years.

That image has stayed with me. Because that’s how the heart works, too. A little seed of desire, a little craving, a little compromise—it doesn’t look like much. A hint of bitterness, a whisper of complaint, a quiet disappointment left alone—it all takes root. And left unchecked, it spreads.

Hebrews says, “A thistle or two gone to seed can ruin a whole garden in no time.” Then, right on the heels of that warning, it brings up Esau—the man who traded his birthright for a bowl of stew. What connects a weed to a meal? Appetite.

Esau’s undoing didn’t start in the kitchen. It started with a seed—a subtle, inward hunger that grew unchecked. He let his need in the moment outweigh his inheritance for a lifetime. A small craving led to great loss.

In Scotland, the thistle is admired. Its purple bloom stands proud against the wind. But move it into farmland, and it’s a menace. It spreads fast, drinks deep, and chokes out everything good. What’s prized in one place becomes poison in another.

That truth found its way across an ocean. In the 1800s, a Scottish settler sent a packet of thistle seeds to Australia, thinking them lovely—decorative, even charming. But once they hit the soil, they multiplied like wildfire.

Within a few short years, the thistles covered pastures and roadsides, killing crops and stealing life from the land. The problem grew so bad that in 1852 the government passed “The Thistle Act,” requiring landowners to destroy every thistle—or face a fine. What began as beauty became bondage.

That’s how the enemy works. Not with a tsunami, but with a seed. He doesn’t need to topple your faith in one strike—just plant something small: a hint of resentment, a whisper of complaint, a tiny “need” that grows into entitlement.

The devil is diabolical, not always dramatic. He prowls in pretense—silently roaring in the subtle. Hebrews says Esau wept for what he’d lost, but by then it was too late—tears or no tears. It’s a sobering reminder: the seeds we plant today will bear fruit tomorrow, for better or worse.

So before the weeds take root—before discontent hardens into bitterness, before appetite becomes addiction, and before the small trade turns into lifelong loss—let the “good eyes” of the Lord search the soil of your heart. Let Him pull what doesn’t belong.

The tears of regret are bitter, but thanks to Jesus, the tears of repentance lead to life. In the end, the garden of your soul and life is shaped by the quiet seeds, the unseen choices—the little things.

Buy the book Nudgings at: hsnudgings.com