Adequately pierced…
A richly colored, well shaped vessel, hand-picked and perfectly placed in the spot best suited for its contents, enough sun, but not too much, cool shade at the right time of day and visible to all who would care to appreciate its beauty, were they to take the time to look.
Filled with soil, rich in nutrients, and meant to be the environment in which the seeds planted, would grow with the fervor and intent that they were meant for. The seeds grew to plants, and the plants bloomed their flowers, and they were beautiful…
I have been self appointed to the role of plant tender (and house sitter) while the owner of both plants and home enjoys an extended stay abroad. Over the course of time I have been at this property, I must admit there were more than a few times when I thought I MIGHT have the better deal!
I have been faithful to water the plants; it is somewhat of a therapy and a responsibility I don’t take lightly. (After all, it really is my “ONLY TASK”…the rest of it comes down to simply enjoying my stay at this beautiful retreat like estate).
I noticed this morning something I’d not noticed before, as I went about the business of watering the plants and flowers, some were doing quite well, while other’s seemed to be struggling. I admit I had observed this previously but had not put thought into it, other than to perhaps water a little longer where the plants looked tired, dry and as if they were struggling to beat their intended fate, assuming that was really all they needed.
I love to be out on the terrace, this is where I write and think, and sometimes cry. (I have taken the liberty to do so on occasion as I sense the Lord speak to me here)…but mostly, I just love the view, the beauty of grounds and the flowers.
Today, I found myself sitting on a step, next to some of the potted flowers, within reach of many of them and was using the “soaker” selection of the hose sprayer and purposefully began soaking some of the flower pots that seemed like they needed, well…something more. Reaching each of them from where I sat, I began to ask the Lord what today might be about. I wondered out loud, if He would speak to me and bravely pondered out loud, would I even hear You if You DID speak to me?
I leaned to the left, and to the right, pointing my soaker in the direction of each little vessel awaiting its well deserved drink of water. I have to say that I tried to be fair all along, treating each pot of flowers with the same care and equal time under the soaker hose. But, something struck me this time that I had not noticed before…this one particular (rather thirsty looking pot of mixed plants and flowers) was filling up with water…and the water was going NO WHERE! I wondered how it was possible, and watched for a few moments only to find nothing was happening…unless we want to count the fact that I managed to fill the pot to the top with water as the “something” that happened.
I filled it, and watched, and waited, and quite honestly, found myself a bit unnerved that the water would not soak in…I was perplexed because dry soil SHOULD soak up water, right?
The next thing I knew, I had pierced my finger down into the soil…just curious I guess, and the result? Bubbles. Yep, bubbles. Under almost 2 full inches of water, was about a ¼ inch of damp soil, and then nothing but DRY, tightly packed, impenetrable dirt untouched and unscathed by the drenching I had imposed upon it. I was baffled. I poked even deeper, and met even more resistance. Interesting, I thought.
It was at the moment that I pierced my finger down into the soil to investigate what was going on deeper that something began to happen in ME. I saw the picture the Lord was trying to speak to me the entire time I had been here, but for who knows how many, or what reasons at all, I had not heard or seen…until now.
I am this planted flower, desperately thirsty, though adequately watered. I have done all that is within me to bloom and grow by soaking up the droplets that fell upon me, but receiving little benefit from the soaking, because the soil was packed much too tightly, and lacked the ability to bubble. Placed in the exact vessel, chosen expressly for me, a simple base, not too ornate, earthy in color, and plenty of room to grow…yet I am stifled. I tearfully asked at that moment, "what happened to me, Lord"? "How did I get to this hard, dry and dying place"? I long for a quenching that no mist or frequent droplets could satisfy.
I really had everything necessary to thrive…well, except the experience of being recently pierced. In order for me to truly receive the life giving benefits of a good drenching, I needed some aeration. I need to be poked, and broken up a bit. I need to be jostled just enough that the water wouldn’t just sit atop the bed it was poured onto. And I felt, at that moment, the finger tips of God, purposefully pressing in. Not to damage or destroy, but to free up and make prepared more deeply, the soil that is necessary for me to continue to grow and flourish…perhaps not always “blooming” but when the seasons are right, most certainly, I will. I have to endure the piercing if my full potential is to be reached. I don't exist only for the benefit of "self" but to be set apart and to add beauty to the lives of others as well.
I poked a few more holes in the soil of this particular plant, and assumed it was appreciated. I was careful of the roots and the mixed plants within the soil, as not to break or damage their life source, but was sure to work my way around the soil in such a way that as it is watered each day, it would now be capable of taking in all that was poured into it. After all, I, the temporary gardener, simply want the plants to live, and flourish, bloom in season and become what they were intended to become.
I sat and stared at this silly pot of flowers, in awe of the fact that they had just taught me a lesson. Okay, I know the Lord did, but the pot and its contents were a tangible, visible portrayal and representation of you and I in the sense that we can only be what we were meant to be, and as we await the gardener’s life giving “soaker hose” to fall over us and quench a daily thirst, we must also be prepared to have the ground that surrounds us, broken up from time to time in order that we might more effectively gain from being drenched so mercifully by the master gardener.
Piercing connotes a painful experience that most do not voluntarily ascribe to. It also expresses a needful, if not necessary exercise in which we are better after having experienced the pain of the act, than the pain we endured up to the point that the piercing act occurred.
I pondered another truth in the moments after coming to my newfound conclusion that piercing can be a good thing, and that was that those plants could not water themselves. If it were not for me or some pre-arranged watering system having been put in place, they would surely die. The were deeply rooted, and without means to adequately care, long term, for themselves. Sure, they may have some water reserves in their roots that might give them a day or two of life, but ultimately, they needed someone to come along with the life giving water necessary, willing to pour it over them, and then do the same thing again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.
I pondered another truth in the moments after coming to my newfound conclusion that piercing can be a good thing, and that was that those plants could not water themselves. If it were not for me or some pre-arranged watering system having been put in place, they would surely die. The were deeply rooted, and without means to adequately care, long term, for themselves. Sure, they may have some water reserves in their roots that might give them a day or two of life, but ultimately, they needed someone to come along with the life giving water necessary, willing to pour it over them, and then do the same thing again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.
I believe that I have been pierced adequately for today's soaking...have you?
