From The Weeds

It had been an unseasonably long and hot summer, one where the daily temperatures hovered in the upper 80s/low 90s well into mid-October. 

I remember the day I drove to the garden shop, carefully selecting which flowers I wanted to plant for the Spring and Summer. I brought them home and painstakingly cleaned the old soil from our window boxes before re-filling each with deep brown, nutrient rich soil. I carefully dug little burrows for each plant before massaging the roots, gently placing them in their soil beds, and blanketing them with more soil. I watered them daily, these little flowering plants of mine, and watched them spread their roots and grow. I pruned them constantly, watered them religiously, and had a front-row seat as they grew, shining toward the sun and gently dancing in the breeze. I did my best with my flowery wee ones. But sometimes, life gets in the way. 

It had been an unseasonably long and hot summer. 

We spent a week at the beach, an escape from the unforgiving heat. Upon returning home, I discovered that the sun's harsh rays and unrelenting heat had been too much for my blooms. What once were window box stages proudly presenting the beauty of the purest white petunia performers were now vacant arenas showcasing the shriveled, shadowy remains of former promise. 

The only thing left to do was uproot the now parched, decaying plants, leaving their former homes vacant, aside from the brown soil stage that once had boasted their beauty. 

There was no more watering. No more pruning. I had done my best to care for my plants when they were fresh and new. I had taken the time, energy, and effort to help them grow and flourish, but, when left alone, without my nurturing care, they had not survived. 

Time continued like only she can, and with her, the lingering Southern summer heat. Day after day the unforgiving heat remained. Weeks passed. I willed Autumn to arrive, to relieve Summer of her ever-present swelter. And yet, she remained steadfast and strong. One day, I noticed weeds in my emptied windowboxes, lining the soil, sprouting anew. Rows upon rows of weeds. And then, weeks later, my emptied window boxes, well...

...they weren't empty at all. 

Somehow, someway, against all odds, there - in the soil that was vacant just a month prior, there, rising tall and strong amongst the weeds, were three beautiful, healthy, pure white petunias sprouts, growing from the ruins. All that groundwork that had been laid - all the care and effort and nurturance and time - all that had seemed so futile, as though it made no difference, had come to bear fruit. In the end, it made all the difference. It had built a solid foundation, one that allowed little seeds that had been left behind to grow, to flourish. When hope seemed lost, when the blooms withered and the weeds took over, new life found a way to rise. 

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Take the time. Put in the effort. Nurture and love and care. Prune and nourish. Over and over again. For, even when you think hope is lost, you may just find that the seeds you  painstakingly planted have, in fact,  taken root. We can’t see what’s going on beneath the surface, under the soil. But God knows. He always knows. And hope triumphs. 

The seed that fell among thorns stands for those who hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by life’s worries, riches and pleasures, and they do not mature. But the seed on good soil stands for those with a noble and good heart, who hear the word, retain it, and by persevering produce a crop. Luke 8:14-15