I couldn’t take it anymore. There was no real appearance of life, but I wasn’t ready to toss it in the trash.
A few years ago, my husband and sons bought me a beautiful, bushy fern for a long-empty pot and wrought-iron stand which sat in the foyer of our home. It was a Mother’s Day gift…one that was simple and full of life.
My history with indoor plants isn’t good. Look at any one of the six plants in my home, and you’ll see that I am not disciplined enough to care for them the way they need to be cared for. Their hues are various shades of decomposing green, there are always an abundance of “dried” leaves and stems, and all of them scream to be fed, watered, and nourished. Houseplants just aren’t my thing.
I’d had enough with the looks of this fern. It was now ugly and without much life. With scissors in-hand and a big trash can underneath, I began to cut away at the fronds. There were a few green sprigs attempting to emerge from one side of the pot, but it was more dead than alive. By the time I had cut away all that was dead, the plant looked like a hair style from the ’80s…back when large combs held large hair in place swooped over to one side of the head. (oh, the 80s!)
It looks pretty lopsided now, but I think it has a fighting chance at survival, as long as I can remember to water it a few times a week.
I didn’t want to throw it away. I’m glad I didn’t, because when I finished with trimming away what was dead, it reminded me of me. There was a little bit of life left in that pot. It was just enough with which to start over.
My life looks very little like it did five years ago. I thought I was alive and living a nourished life back then, but I’ve had the feeling my Caretaker needed to heavily prune and trim away what was dead. I, too, needed to do some pruning in my own life…pruning of habits, mindsets, expectations, unproductive hopes, people in my life, and some unhealthy emotions.
For a time, I wondered how I’d survive His pruning.
Can I regrow?
Can I bloom in new ways?
Can new life be reborn from what was dried up and ugly?
Can I survive the tearing away (it was more than a trim) of the old life in order to become more beautiful, more abundantly full, more nourished, and more prepared to sprout new life?
With some help.
I am, and I will.
I have high hopes for my fern. It reminds me of me.
I hope to one day look at it and proclaim that removing what was dead was exactly what needed to be done to bring about a second chance at living.
It reminds me of me.