Spring is finally making a slow and cautious approach and I'm anxiously watching the garden to assess how many of the new plants we put in last year are still thriving. It seems that every year, due to carelessness or ignorance on my part there are a few casualties. There are a lot of factors that can account for a plant's inability to thrive - soil conditions, inadequate light or water, pests, weeds; improper fertilization - any deviation from the prescribed care of the plant can result in stunted growth, wilting leaves or dead plants. Gardening is tricky, and in spite of my efforts the learning comes slowly.
As I contemplate what's required to help my plants blossom, I have to acknowledge how much more care is required to help our fellow human beings thrive and bloom. Sad as it sounds, it seems that most of us don't bear blossoms as often as we should. Our growth factors are not so dissimilar from those of plants - we need water and food to sustain us, we need warmth and light (or perhaps enlightenment). We need to try to avoid the "pests and weeds" that endanger our growth, which vary with each human specimen.
In my case, "weeds" tend to be harsh, unkind people - the ones who spill vitriol the second you express an opinion contrary to their own, or offer an iota of well meaning advice. (Sometimes it seems I'm alone in feeling that friendship isn't defined by solidarity of beliefs or ideologies.) When I'm around those who can only accept me when I nod in agreement and echo back their own dogma I feel as choked as a flower in a field of thistles. "Pests" that gnaw at me are my flaws - a sharp temper, impatience; frustration that leads to discouragement - an aphid that sucks the emotional sap out of a lot of us. We may blame our lack of blossoms on the fact that nobody seems to appreciate our efforts, but buds are more apt to open when we learn to appreciate our own contributions. Many of the tasks that fill our days get little applause - especially those related to parenting. (Keep this in mind - Mother's Day is around the corner!) Those deeds that get the least acknowledgement now are often the very things that will be praised most later on.
One growth factor that I haven't mentioned yet is location. Some plants are downright persnickety about where they'll grow. At my last home the front garden was sandy and shaded. I quickly discovered that few plants could thrive there. On the advice of a neighbour I planted hostas and impatiens, and finally achieved success. Too often people blame their unhappiness on their current situation. They tell themselves that they'd bloom like crazy if they were only somewhere else. It's easy to try to grow hothouse roses in the desert, and then wonder why they never flower.
Often those "planted" in inhospitable soil have risen above such ills as poverty,violence and physical limitations to make incredible contributions to society. (Perhaps the "bloomers" are content to be hostas, impatiens, or even lowly cacti, who bear flowers in sand and shade.) Certainly we are an adaptable species, able to survive hardships and even overcome them*. We all have buds - potential to bloom- so why aren't we producing blossoms?
Today I leave you with a poem about a cactus who learned to appreciate her worth when she noticed how much she contributed to the desert around her.
Bloom Where You Stand (by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, April '06)
A young cactus in the desert
surveyed the landscape drear,
and sniffing with disdain she asked -
"Why was I planted here?
I'm covered in horrid prickles -
a common shade of green -
not that it really matters much,
out here I won't be seen!"
She grew beneath the desert sun -
became a lofty plant,
though sun beat harshly down on her
and rain was very scant.
Her boredom was acutely felt,
her life was full of woe -
she never understood that she
was planted where she'd grow.
One day she happened to look down
and notice something new.
In the coolness of her shadow
a tiny cactus grew!
Its existence gave her purpose -
she felt parental pride,
and when it asked why it was there,
in answer she replied:
"I didn't understand my worth
until I saw you there -
you helped me see why I exist
and what I have to share.
I've come to see things differently
and comprehend at last
just how much life is nurtured in
the shadow that I cast.
Travelers rest within my shade
when their poor hides are baked.
They tap into the juice I yield
and find their thirst is slaked.
Birds nest within my shadow so
their eggs don't end up poached!
You too will learn your usefulness",
she heartily reproached.
Though my tale has been quite lenghthy
it isn't finished yet -
in their season rains descended,
the arid soil grew wet.
Our cactus friend was soon adorned
in blossoms bright and bold,
and stories of her loveliness
both far and wide were told.
She perceived a different desert
when she was thus arrayed -
the beauty she embodied now
was everywhere displayed.
We must strive to heed the lessons
the cactus came to learn -
when we through trials or circumstance
for greener pastures yearn.
When life seems bleak and desert dry -
our purpose not defined -
we need to look beyond ourselves
to see how we're designed.
We each have capabilities,
talents that we can share,
and if we try to nurture them
we'll bloom most anywhere!
Our confidence will be increased;
our faithfulness expand -
when we learn to trust the sower,
we'll blossom where we stand.
*Turn those buds to the sunlight and bloom on! If the soil we are in is no longer able to sustain growth we can transplant ourselves. (Nobody needs to be a lonely petunia in an onion patch.) Stay tuned - that's a whole other post!
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