These are the leaves of a callas lily along the rear border of my backyard. These plants are hand-me-downs from family, and they've been a long time greening. For a time, I wasn't sure they'd survive.
This foray into gardening is teaching me trust and patience. I've never been good at keeping plants alive; this time, however, I've been doing what I can--planting, fertilizing, watering--then stepping back and letting God do the rest.
So far, I've lost three plants out of dozens. I've transplanted two of the lost plants, hoping the innate hardiness of nature will take over and resurrect what appears to be dying.
Yesterday, I watched a show in which a father left his adult son on the steps of a courthouse and drove away, and I wondered what that character would be thinking when he did that. What did my parents think when they left me at school, at college, at the airport on my way to a foreign country? What would they think if I left the area where we all live now?
Uncertain health has made me rely on them more than I would have done otherwise. Dad and his wife are over here all the time. Mom checks in often. I am grateful. I love them. I also want to leave.
Could they trust that the hardiness of nature would take over, and that they--the gardeners--had done all they could; the rest is up to God?