Reasons why this is true:
- This summer I have killed five plants entrusted to me, all of which were advertised as low maintenance.
- I can look at a dying plant and consciously choose not to water it in that moment or any moment after.
- If a plant is beautiful, I admire it profusely, but a dying one is nearly invisible to me.
- The plants which survived my care in the past were undeniable miracles and products of grace.
- I cannot blame the Texas heat. There are plants growing vigorously in my neighbor's yard and in my own backyard, under the care of my roommate.
The trouble is that I want to be a gardener. I think flowers are the most beautiful part of creation, second only to the ocean. I do not mind getting dirty and sweaty and pulling weeds. When I feel like it, gardening is a wonderful way to release stress and join in the creation process.
But my follow through is flawed. Gardens need consistent care, and my schedule seems to be anything but consistent. Is my failure truly a problem of scheduling, though, or is it more a problem of commitment? I am not committed to ensuring that these plants live, and not just live - thrive, bloom, flourish. Why?
Because I like instant gratification. I like to work hard, see a product, and reap all the benefits in that moment and for all the days after that without further work. Why can we not clean our house once and reap the benefits of a spotless house for years to come? Why can we not get our hands dirty once planting a rose bush and see it bloom in glory every year after?
Which leads to the more serious question - Why must we continue to invest in relationships? Why can we not be vulnerable and unselfish once, earn a person's trust, and enjoy the relationship in perfect harmony forever after? Why do couples say you must continue to date even after marriage? Why must a woman work at raising her children even after she has done the excruciatingly painful work of delivering them?
Because the world is hot. People need water too. And relationships do not grow more beautiful the more you avoid them. They just become more wilted and dead. And then - poof! They might disappear back into the soil from which they grew.
Based on my gardening skills, I am thankful I have not been entrusted with marriage or children yet. My hope lies in a rose bush and a
single zinnia flower and one crop of tomatoes and strawberries. These were products of grace, not my green thumb. Despite my weak efforts and forgetfulness about watering and tendency to avoid them when they looked like they were struggling, they survived. And the rose bush even survived for years and continued to produce gorgeous blooms.
My prayer tonight is this - may I be less enamored with romance and the beauty of lavish gardens and more committed to watering the plants I've been given and deeply knowing the real people (flaws and all) who cross my path. And maybe someday I will be blessed with a husband, a home filled with kids, and a lush garden. They will only survive (and hopefully more than survive - flourish, bloom, thrive) if I am willing to work with commitment and surrender my weak efforts to the hurricane of grace which washes over me continuously.
This is beautiful, Lydia!
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