Being Transplanted

I connect in a variety of ways. As you know, music is one of those connecting points, cooking is another, laughter and hugs often say much more than any words could ever communicate, and the other way I connect is through plants.

That's right. Plants. And not just gardening. I love gardening, but ever since I can remember, indoor plants have always been something of a hobby of mine. My Mom, fantastic as ever, had to put up with a good many ugly, half dead plants in old paper cups and cracked jars strewn all about the house.

My first real, honest-to-goodness, plant of my own was a cactus. I call it the friendly cactus because you can touch it and not get hurt. That cactus is very special to me...and I have no clue how it is alive and thriving today. It's been dropped, it's been practically thrown away three times, neglected, over-loved, the list goes on and on. I've propped the wilting thing up with pencils, sticks and string. I've moved it from old Starbucks cups to ceramic pot after ceramic pot till the little cacti, no bigger than my thumb, became the tall, strong, and I might add noble and loving cactus that it is today. 

Yes. I personify my cactus and I'm proud of it. 

I've also successfully killed and brought back to life grown those common spider plants that everyone seems to have at some point. There's an aloe that is in need of some TLC 'cause I've not been the most observant mother while doing college and all that. 

Then there's the few plants that haven't made it. We shall have a moment of silence for them. *sigh*

There's something wonderful in watering those living vessels, being the one that cares for them and helps them by placing them in the sun, or rehydrating them. Nursing them back to life. Enjoying their green smiles. It's all quite nice. 

Today I transplanted a few spider plants. They laid bare and exposed on the deck with the not-so-warm wind tossing their leaves about. I felt sorry for them, but I tucked them in some cold soil in newer, larger pots and told them that it was for the best. 

And then a thought struck me. As my hands, dirtied with soil and a bit numbed by the Spring chill caressed their shivering forms in the wind, I thought of how much shock they must be going through. They won't stand up on their own for a while now, and they'll probably wither a bit before they thrive again. But I know something for sure: they will thrive. I know that, as I place them tenderly into the fresh soil filled with new nutrients, they are going to do even better than they were in their previous state...it just takes a little time, but soon they'll be growing and loving every bit of extra space their new pots provide. 

I knew that, but they didn't. Obviously plants don't even think about these things at all. I'm not that odd. But I wondered, how often does God transplant us, knowing it's for our good while we go through the whole process thinking, "Why is this happening? God, this isn't good!" As if we are to know what's good and He isn't. No. 

Maybe you've been completely uprooted. Maybe you're laying bare and cold; feeling like you're all alone, when really your Savior is just filling up a new pot with better soil for you to occupy. You only have to trust in Him and eventually, some day, you'll again see the sunlight. His gentle hands will water you and tend you...He watches over you, seeing when you need more water, knowing when you've had enough, and waiting to see when you'll need a bigger pot. It might be a painful process, but without it you'll never grow; your roots will tangle into yourself and soon enough you'll be sucking the nutrients out of yourself. You need to grow. You need to be transplanted. 

Let God do the work and trust in Him as He transplants you to better ground.