Tender & Unfolding
I wrote recently about a lesson that my plants are teaching me. I wrote about pruning. In that I spoke of the interchange between death and life - how they are inseparable, but in certain cultures this truth is denied. Death is sad, tastes bitter, but also contributes to new life. New life is beautiful and precious, dynamic and vibrant. I had chopped off a large old leaf off my Monstera plant in my office to help the resources go to the budding newness of a delicate fresh roll of a leaf.
Each time I enter or leave my office this new life is literally unfolding for me. It is a delight to behold. The pale green roll has been unfurling over the past few days and just today assumed the heart shape that it will maintain throughout its life. It doesn't yet have the strength to hold the weight of the leaf away from the branch/stem, but each day it will a little more and a little more. Eventually the leaf will double or triple in size and the stem will have no issue holding its weight. But its not yet ready.
This observation prompts me to think about the intersection of progress and patience. All too often I want it now or I mentally berate myself for not being "there" yet - whatever that "there" is - relationship, carrier, emotional/mental health, habits and behaviors.
Yet that plant isn't "there." However, it will be in time. Over time the leaf instead of pointing downward on itself will be outstretched in an obtuse angle away from its stem. The leaves will darken and deepen and grow in size. The indentations on the perimeter of the leaf will relinquish the attachments from adjoining leaf prominences and it will be magnificent.
It's magnificent currently, but it is more tender and vulnerable right now. It's in process.
So I give it water. I make sure it has access to light. And for the most part the rest is entirely up to it. It patiently takes the next steps in the life cycle and doesn't demand from itself more than it has to offer. It is tender during its tender phases, trusting and hoping that it will make it through to the next phase. How do I know it hopes and trusts? Well, I see it change a little day to day and even over the course of a day. I see these small changes because I am intentionally observing.
My tenderness of new growth and new life won't always be this tender. Over time, my structure will change and I will find myself capable of things I never envisioned. People looking at me will see me totally differently, because I will be different. If I reflect, I can see all these new brave decisions and encounters and see the magnificence of me in this phase. My tenderness doesn't diminish my value. In fact, I think it highlights the potential of new life, new capacity, and new opportunities.
Jesus told us that each day has enough trouble of its own. So what does that look like in human life? So many things. I just received a call that the housing application I filled out has a problem due to the breed of my dog. My hopes to move in by this weekend, will likely not be realized. Did I freak out? No. Am I disappointed? Yes. Will I be overwhelmed later? Possibly. But every day does have enough problems, so I'll focus on today, and then tomorrow on tomorrow. I can honor my tenderness with space, rest, and compassion. When worry pops up, I can acknowledge how it points to my values and then I can release it to come back to the moment of what is mine to do right now. I don't know yet where I'll be living this next year, but I've always been okay and gotten what I needed.
The monstera isn't worrying if the sun will stop shining, or if it will get knocked over tomorrow or if I'll stop watering it. It's taking the energy it is given each day in water and sunlight and nutrients from the soil and directing it to sustaining itself and the miracle of new life and growth.
Where are you tender and growing?
How are you protecting and nurturing that new life and potential?
Where are you seeing beauty and vulnerability around you that you can celebrate and protect?
May you always see the blessing.
-esb