I deal with quite a bit of lawn shame. Looking out over my vast .26 acre lot, I often find myself thinking, ‘Meh.’ My yard is especially inglorious this time of year when it needs cut every three days and the weeds are plentiful.

One of my biggest issues is that although my yard needs cut every three days, I am more like an every six to seven day kind of guy. I know my grass is too long when I can see the wind rippling through my lawn like it’s the Serengeti.

I could have sworn I heard Hakuna Matata echoing across the plains the last time I mowed. A “problem-free philosophy” my eye. Whoever wrote that song clearly didn’t have chickweed covering half of their front yard.

I’m not sure why my inability to grow a great lawn bothers me so much. I guess my inner-farmer is offended. I think back to the pioneer days when agriculture was essential. If you couldn’t grow food, you couldn’t eat.

Then, I imagine my 10 pioneer-days children who all look like Tiny Tim (from A Christmas Carol, not the eccentric ukulele player) staring at me with their sunken eyes wondering why their papa can’t get the crops to grow.

I don’t know, Tiny Tim kids! Stop with all the pressure!

I realize that one of the biggest barriers standing between me and a beautiful lawn is time. I don’t invest a lot of it into my lawn.

I assume I could have great landscaping and make my imaginary Tiny Tim family proud if I were to work in my yard every night. But my time is more wisely invested.

I’ve started to notice that some of the best men I know share a similar affliction. Their yards aren’t great either. These men are coaches, dads, granddads, leaders, servants and big-idea guys who are pouring into their families, into youth, into marriages. Lawn care is an afterthought.

They are eradicating emotional weeds and helping prune and nurture spiritual gifts that are just beginning to bud. While I wouldn’t put myself on the same level as some of these men, I see that I often let my yard go for one more day because that day is being invested in something more meaningful.

I am learning to be okay with that.

Someday my body will reside six feet beneath a well-manicured lawn, and whether that’s tomorrow or 50 years from now, I want to leave behind a positive impact.

I want to know that I did something with my time and gifts that helped others in some way. Lawn care (unless I’m caring for someone else’s lawn) simply doesn’t do that.

Now, I have some civic duty and pride that compels me to keep my yard respectable, but it will never look like a golf course. My lawn’s mediocrity is freeing up my capacity to be great in other areas.

I am good with that.