"Forget the former things: do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland" (Isaiah 43:18-19).
"How could plants that thrived for a decade deteriorate to near death in eight weeks?", I asked my husband in astonishment. Unable to take them into our hotel room while we searched for a new home we entrusted them to a close friend. She informed me they were struggling a "little", as she followed my instructions regarding their care. She meant well. But somehow they were slowly neglected and arrived at my doorstep parched and shriveled; a mere shadow of their former beauty and a lot like me.
The dragon plant took the worst hit shrinking from over four feet tall to half its size. With tape and sticks my sweet friend attempted to repair the damage she'd done on the plant's drooping trunk. It looked like it was on life support! Thankfully, my precious husband hid the plants in the garage until after my friend's visit. When my eyes first beheld them I gasped in shocked then burst out laughing. As tears rolled down my laughing face I exclaimed, "These plants are a metaphor of me!"
Watering my plants I realized my sisterhood with them. We'd both traveled a rough journey during this relocation. Uprooted from all that was familiar to me, all that made my life comfortable and easy, I wasn't thriving spiritually, physically or emotionally in our new city. I miss our friends, our church; our neighborhood. Now life is foreign and lonely like a dry wasteland. It's pretty here but I feel displaced.
Some days I chastise myself, angry that I'm acting as if I've been exiled to an awful place. But it's not an attitude of ungratefulness that's stunting my growth. I lack nourishment because I've rushed through my quiet time with Jesus. My plants are a reflection of the way I feel inside, but all is not lost! Just as there are tiny green leaves of new growth pushing through my plant's withered stalks, so there is life in me. This desert season has increased my compassion for those who struggle far worse transplanting, such as our brave military and their families.
As I read my Bible and God's Word washes over my parched soul, I am reminded of His purpose for the uprooting. He is more concerned with character development than comfort; there is something new He's birthing in me. If I let Him plow and plant something beautiful will bloom for His glory. "Father, help me remember the goodness of the past without hanging on so tightly that I miss the new thing you are doing" (Isaiah 43:18-19). Thank you!
Your sister and herald for Jesus,
Mary
