Green Thumbs or All-Thumbs?
What’s the matter?” my friend asked, sensing my frustration.
“I killed my last living house plant. I just can’t keep them alive,” I sniveled. “Now company is coming and I have to go buy more…”
A caring arm reached around my shoulder. “Well, in that case, just go to the store, walk up and down the aisles and look for one with a death wish.”
Another friend had different advice for me. “Name your plants. Then you will be sure to care for them as you would a person.” So I brought home a pair of vibrant green specimens, hoping we could be “best fronds.” I named them Patty Pathos and Phil Philodendron, after my dear sister and her husband. I loved on these plants, talking to them, tending to them as though they were my own kin. When they withered and died soon afterward, I went into mourning, feeling like I’d just lost beloved family members.
That led to my reluctant silk plant phase. Incredibly, even they began to wilt and look ugly. So I went back to the (ever so briefly) living ones
I wondered – was I was killing them with kindness, over watering and under pruning? Was it the Classical music that did them in, unaware they preferred Country Western? Did my sisters get the green-thumb genes, and I was stuck with the all-thumbs genes?
I don’t know. All I know is that I am in awe of anyone whose greenery can come from the nursery, cross the threshold of their new digs and live to tell about it.
I’m so glad my heavenly Father knows just what I need of everything as He cares for me. He knows just the right amount of sunshine and rain to pour into my days, how much sorrow, temptation, and burden to allow. He knows the where and what and when and how and who I will need in my life. And I not only live but thrive in the care of my Master, my forever Friend who is always with me, even when all my earthly fronds have expired.
Copyright 2007