Do you remember the story about Pies and I? You would think that a blonde lady would learn her lesson good once and for all . . . but some of us put ourselves through our own misery every few years or so. And it’s not just for the fun of it either.
Now this story isn’t about pies, but it is about plants. And my five-year-old son, Wyatt.
I had mentioned earlier how I ordered seeds to start some plants indoors this winter. The two little guys and I had fun filling our pots with soil and dropping in the tiny seeds. We gave them almost everything they needed – soil, water and warmth. But, uh, we were not able to give them something they needed most desperately.
Once the seedlings came up, we could see that we had a definite problem on our hands. The plants shot straight up, very spindly and searching for light. I did not have a growing light, but we were trying to simply use the light that came in through the window. However, the window I had them sitting in front of had an overhang outside of it and that kept them from getting good sunlight.
One day, in a frantic attempt to save my precious seedlings, I put them on the porch in the beautiful sunshine. As I was carrying them outside, Wyatt asked sweetly, “Mom, can I have one for my bedroom?” He wanted to sit it on the windowsill. In my gloomy frame of mind, I thought, “Why not? It’s probably going to die anyway.”
Bringing my plants back in that evening, I realized my second crucial mistake. I had sat them in the wind. Grrr. I wanted to pick them all up and throw them at the nearest mulch pile!
Thus began Operation Rescue Seedlings and Mom’s Pride.
I propped them up, watered them and kept moving them around, looking for better sunlight. Just so you know, I can’t say that I’ve ever successfully raised plants from seed inside my house. I love to garden outside, but I am deadly inside. Seriously. I joke that if a lady has a plant she doesn’t want but can’t make herself get rid of . . . just give it to me. I’ll kill it dead real good. (I know that’s not proper English, btw.)
So why did I think this spring would be any different? Let me refresh my memory . . . I was hoping a different house that gets more sunlight over all would help. Plus, not having three little bodies and six tiny hands to pull out my precious plants might also guarantee success.
Guess I forgot about the one tiny guy we have left – who delightedly jerked out one helpless seedling the other evening. The spectators of this fiasco, of whom Daddy is chief, just laughed and said to use the spindly green for salad.
As Operation Rescue Seedlings and Mom’s Pride was well underway, numerous times Wyatt would yell from his bedroom, “Mom! My plant is growing big!!”
Yeah, yeah, son. I hate to tell you, but it’s probably dying and you don’t even know it. You’ve never done this before – you don’t know what they’re supposed to look like.
Someone should have smacked me for that thought.
Especially since I never once stopped to look at his little “dying” plant. Until I was putting him to bed one evening. As I went in to give a hug and kiss goodnight to my chief plant-growing rival, I stopped in my tracks. There on his windowsill sat a beautiful, tall, straight, green tomato plant! And it was sporting healthy leaves!
My poor little plants were still having to be propped up and hadn’t grown for several weeks. They had only given me two measly leaves each and were shameful, to say the least. It felt like God was saying, “Open up now – time to take your medicine like a big girl!” Ugh. Pride tastes nasty when you must swallow it.
One a spiritual parallel ~ I had to wonder how many times we constantly move around, trying to find the right environment, job, or relationship – when it has been right in front of us all the time. We need to be connected to the Vine and basking in the Son!
My chief plant-growing rival, Wyatt, has been so kind as to share his windowsill with my droopy plants. And the others have found a windowsill home, too. Where they will stay for quite some time.
However, the laughter from the spectators better die down fast –
or they might find themselves with a
supper comprised of two measly tomato leaves . . .