Seriously.
I have no idea where it came from. Though if I'm being honest, I picked it up somewhere the year before and planted it not knowing what I really had.
All I know is that in the spring, there was NOTHING in the dirt. Then leaves emerged. Long spindly leaves. They had all of the earmarks of -- shhh -- a weed.
I didn't shirk my duty. I pulled it out.
It came back. I sprayed it with week killer.
It came back. I sprayed again.
It came back. By this time, it was hot outside. You know, steamy, oppressive heat that settles over you like a blanket. The kind where even the weathermen give up - it's going to be hot and sunny. I didn't want to mess with it.
The weed grew. I gave in. I decided at least it was a pretty weed. It kind of looked like it belonged next to my new rose bush. Matt and I laughed at each other at the weed that wouldn't go away. It got bigger -- about waist high and just as thick.
That's when I noticed it. The buds. Swollen buds that promised pink.
Pink? We looked at each other and shrugged. This was no ordinary weed. The buds grew bigger, plump, reaching skyward. I couldn't wait to see the bloom.
It was no ordinary bloom - a brilliant pink hibiscus ringed with white. It. was. stunning. For the rest of the summer and until the first freeze, there was never more less than six daily blooms. Deer and rabbits didn't feast on these flowers as they do my normal annual hibiscus plants. My normal plants are hors d'oeuvres for my garden. This flower stands tall, proud, triumphant against adversity.
I was humbled.
After all, how often do we miss the beautiful blooms thinking it's something to get rid of?
How often do we try to stifle creativity for conformity? How often do I cut down my dreams for practicality? How often do I do this to others?
The plant grows back every year. As I type it sits full of promise, ready to erupt into colorful bloom any day. Every year I use it as a reminder - a reminder to look past my fixed thought patterns and embrace the possibilites. It's a reminder that beauty emerges from failure. It's a reminder that when nurished, a "weed" can show the true potential that God intended for it.
I like it when God gives me metaphors to ponder.
What a beautiful metaphor, Amy. You should be writing ALL the time. It is in these "plants" or moments or people that we have the most to learn. As teachers, our job is to recognize that which hides among the seemingly unwanted - give it life and then celebrate its magic. Thanks so much for sharing
ReplyDeleteAmy, I think about this ALL THE TIME. I love order in my life. I love compliance. But the days that strike me as my best are those days the students can be out of their box and light up my life with their flames / ideas. Thank you for sharing your thoughts - I'll look at "weeds" differently! :)
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