A Tale of Two Plants

The last few weeks have felt so big to me.

There have been some measurable "accomplishments", some new experiences, and some deeper insights. There have been these long-waited for moments that I can only describe as a feeling of success--teacher trainings, routine and functional vision clinics, long range plans and projects finally "getting off the ground".

And then, in the midst of all this "progress"--today feels like a set-back. Today's little hurdle is for some reason, looming like an unscalable wall.

I wish I knew where to begin. I wish I knew which parts matter. I guess I'll just show you these plants.

Jonathan bought me these hydrangeas on our first wedding anniversary in Nicaragua. They are my favorite flower, ones I grew and carried in our wedding, and ones that in some places, cover the hillsides here. So in August of 2012, he got permission from our landlord for me to take over a small flowerbed inside the hallway that is in front of our apartment in the Mission. He took me to a hillside covered with blooming hydrangeas, and we bought a few of the healthiest plants.

That was, you might say, quite a while ago, and they look exactly the same.

Exactly.

They haven't died.
They haven't grown.
They've never bloomed.
They look the same almost 3 summers later, as they did when they were first planted there. How is that even possible?!? It seems they should, (in the words of perhaps the most over-quoted movie ever) "Either get busy living, or get busy dying."

I didn't actually take this picture. 

Every time I pass these perpetually static plants, I can't help but wonder--is this me? Am I, like these plants just holding on, just maintaining, and never blooming? Do I celebrate their endurance or curse their ineffectiveness?

Then there is the chaya.

Chaya is a common vegetable here--delicious, plentiful, and cheap. It grows on a vine and tastes kind of like a potatoe-y squash.

I didn't take this picture either. You can tell, since it's not blurry.

A chaya in my vegetable drawer was sprouting leaves so I decided to plant it. It went into the same partially lit patch of ground as my hydrangeas--but just one day later, had already sent up a runner almost a foot high.

For the next few weeks it was remarkable--you could literally watch it grow. Pass by at 6 in the morning and mark how high it stood on the wall, and by 8 you'd see another 3 or 4 inches. Just endless, rapid, unbelievable change.

Within a few months it had scaled not only the first floor, but had taken over the third floor as well! Even battling the ministrations of packs of pigeons and sparrows, it has survived and spread.

chaya vine, begins just behind hydrangea

chaya growing past first floor doorway

chaya level 2

chaya--reaches roof of garage area

But you know what? It has never flowered either.  It's never produced a chaya for my table, not even a blossom.

It makes me wonder, for all its vining and growing, is it any different than the homeostatic hydrangeas?

I know there is a lesson here for me.

Every single time I pass these plants I think: "Well, there is an object lesson just waiting to happen."
I have even sat down to write about these plants on more than one occasion, and read lots of verses about endurance, patience, perseverance, and spiritual maturity. And of course, that famous planter and his seeds.
(*insider tip: those tan words are the Bible verses, go click on 'em and read 'em.)

I wanted an easy to swallow lesson (meaning, something I didn't feel I was personally struggling with) that related to bearing fruit and growth, and that would leave me feeling wise and all spiritual-y without having to actually confront my own weakness.

I guess I need a better concordance--'cuz I never found those scriptures.

What I am left with, is that same old lesson again: that God's ways are not our ways.  When I look at these plants, I can't help but notice that while they may appear opposite--one growing so rapidly and profusely while the other remains unchanged year after year--what truly defines them is that neither is fruitful. And see, the thing about God is--that the fruits He tells us to look for in our lives, are not fruits that are easy to measure by human standards.

You know the ones:
love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.
faith, righteousness, knowledge, self-control, patient endurance, godliness, brotherly kindness, love
(Galatians 5: 22-23  and  2 Peter 1:3-11)

It would be so much easier if "fruits" were the same as "accomplishments". Accomplishments would be such great fruits! I can see them, count them, take their picture, put them in a spreadsheet, analyze them, celebrate them, improve upon them, measure, record and report them.

Exactly all the things I can not do with the real fruits God points me toward.

And just like those plants: my outward appearance and actions have so little to do with how fruitful I am being.

I can rush around, busy with works, putting out vines and growing bundles of leaves--and be fruitless.
I can stay stuck in a mucky rut, persevering through trials, unmoved--and be fruitless.

The lesson I don't want to learn, that I see every time I pass these plants, is that God is not measuring the way we measure. He is not looking for the things we humans want to look for. His definition of "accomplishments" is not the same as the one we use among ourselves.

In fact, you can look it up: When the bible uses a word we translate "accomplish" it only, ever, always is talking about the action of God. Oh sure, I say out loud all the right words about how God is the one doing things and not me. But inside--it feels like, "Yep, today I really accomplished something." Or sometimes, "What a frustrating pile of obstacles today has been."

When in reality, I am just some days the plant whose leaves never change, and other days the plant with millions of leaves crawling up on the ceiling--but the fruit? Yeah. That's something different.

"...remain in me..."