Regarding plant theft

Confession: I am a plant thief.

Really.

If a plant has shoots growing out around the bottom, or leaves that look like they would root well, or seeds hanging out in the open, they will end up in my pocket headed for home. I can’t seem to help myself.

If you invite me over to your house, you’d better check your inventory good, both before and after. Some of it will be gone.

I am now banned from five states in the Midwest.

I have to label my starts by the place from which I took them, because I usually don’t know what they’re called until later. Alden Street rosebush. Willow Street bean trees. Grandpa’s nursing home plant. Spearmint from R— park.

And that doesn’t even touch the plants I actually ask for.

(Exhibit A entered into evidence:)

bean trees

(Exhibit B:)

spearmint

I don’t seem to have as many friends as I used to; I don’t get it. On the other hand, I have some really great plants…

You should probably help me think through the ethics of this, although I can’t say I’ll reform. What? You don’t think a blog audience is the preferred counselor of morality? Alright. If you don’t give me good advice, I’ll have to ask my pastor—but he’s upstairs right now.


* If anyone takes this post seriously, he or she will be buried alive in moist potting soil and then dug up and watered.

** If anyone does not take this post seriously, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Growth

Confession: This is how I generally feel about winter.

winter 1

winter 2

Poorly-planned landscapes. Gray on gray. Gray on gray.

Today I went on a little Expotition to the North Pole (as Pooh) to see if I could find something more inspiring than the above. Anything green, anything growing.

Guess what? The earth has layers.

fallen log

(Incidentally, this post does not. I just have rather a one track mind, and now I can’t stop thinking about things growing.)

Look what I found.

It’s alive out there!

moss

stream

berries

hemlock

mossy log 1

mossy log 2

acorn in moss

baby hemlock

moss again

among the leaves

grass

tulips coming

Every one of these pictures was taken today. Promise. And those are my tulips, just above. Someone should come pull the weeds around them.

I am left wondering. What makes things grow?

You can talk all you want about sunlight, and nutrient-rich soil, and that’s true… but it doesn’t deal with the inner compulsion of things–of seeds and cells and starts. They have to grow. They crave it. Why?

And what makes them grow up?? Slender shoots against the force of gravity… against the crushing earth.

Miracle!

First, that in the dead of winter, with cold wind and a hostile environment, green is peeking out wherever it can.

Second, that all this New is being birthed, but it comes from the womb of the Old. The seeds from the apples Adam ate are still making baby trees for my backyard. The living atoms pulsing within Eve are still fueling the growth of every unborn baby today. We’re working with the same molecules God created in the beginning–He must have infused them with near-infinite potential for growth and reproduction.

This gives me hope in January. Jesus’ work is just incredible.

Holes reloaded

Confession: Sometimes my posts have hidden pieces I don’t share. Do you want to see?

*****

Confession: I hate controversial topics, though I tackle them. I do love truth. Multifaceted, complex, everyone’s-perspective-thrown-in-truth. I love debate. Er. Correction—I love watching debate. But I hate moderating it. This time around, we’ll keep things really simple, focus on what we can all agree on.

The earth is round.

The cycle spins.

The grass is greener than you’d expect, this time of year.

Melting snow turns to water.

Zook yard turns to mudhole.

Have you ever dug a hole in January?

I dug a lot of holes this week, some with my shovel, some with my words.

It’s enchanting.

And raw. For me and for you.

All that rich, dark earth, splendidly flecked with earthworms.

The earth is truly, deeply intoxicating. But I hint also at a lush dessert. God giveth us richly all things to enjoy. The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof.

I dug a lot of holes on Saturday, and stood baby trees in most of them… gifts from the Arbor Day Foundation, received too close to snowfall and kept in water since. And the other hole I dug on Saturday (a standard of quality), I dug deeper on Sunday (a case for eating). Why? I guess because I had some seeds to throw down. I hope they will live. They stand straight, rooted in abundance, luxuriating in the unseasonably warm wind.

I am a baby tree too. I live by digging holes to put myself in. Digging holes, putting out roots. It’s the only way I know to grow. I don’t do it all right. But I learn, and I grow.

Shari, who had geared herself up for four to six more weeks of winter, has snuffed spring, and is dogging it.

I am restless and lonesome, ready for fresh topics, fresh hope, fresh air… Spring.

Holes

The earth is round.

The cycle spins.

The grass is greener than you’d expect, this time of year.

Melting snow turns to water.

Zook yard turns to mudhole.

Have you ever dug a hole in January?

It’s enchanting.

All that rich, dark earth, splendidly flecked with earthworms.

I dug a lot of holes on Saturday, and stood baby trees in them… gifts from the Arbor Day Foundation, received too close to snowfall and kept in water since. I hope they will live. They stand straight, rooted in abundance, luxuriating in the unseasonably warm wind.

Shari, who had geared herself up for four to six more weeks of winter, has snuffed spring, and is dogging it.