A Plant Mystery

I would not call myself a gardener.
In my mind a gardener is a walking encyclopedia of plant knowledge.
To me a gardener knows how to prune, how to thin out, and how to separate plants.
A gardener knows the names of everything in the garden.

I am not that kind of gardener.
I know what pleases my eye.
I know the colors I like to see outside my windows.
I know nothing but general knowledge about the plants that give me the most pleasure.

If there was a potted plant gardener, I am she.
If there was a hanging basket gardener, I am she.
If you quiz me on the names of anything in my garden, I would know only a few.
I know what the plants do more that what they are.

I would like something that attracts butterflies, I said to the person at the nursery.
I would like something that will bring hummingbirds to my garden.
I don’t want anything I have to deadhead.
I need something that can do well in the shade and something that can do well in full sun.

Those things are my criteria.
I care about what the plant does more than what the plant is.
What the plant does is bring me pleasure as I sit on my porch or on my deck.
I water my plants faithfully and fertilize them when I’m supposed to.

The art of planting used to intimidate me.
I was always afraid that I would not put the plant far enough apart from the others.
I was always afraid that I would plant in an area with the wrong amount of sunlight.
I was never quite sure if my limited knowledge was enough.

Then one day I decided that I could do this.
I wanted some black-eyed Susan plants and thought I would try to plant them.
I knew how to dig a hole and put a plant in it.
I just wasn’t sure if my plants would actually grow.

I was surprised when they did grow.
They not only grew, they flourished.
My dear friend gave me day lily bulbs when I moved into this house.
I planted them on a hill near my porch; wonderful orange lilies now wave in the breeze.

I faced my irrational fear of planting.
A little dirt, a trowel, and an imaginative eye have been worthwhile.
It’s not as if I go around and point to all the things I planted.
Yet in my heart I know.

When I went to the nursery this spring to buy my hanging baskets, I explained.
I would like something low maintenance, no deadheading, and able to get full sun.
The low maintenance comment always makes the nursery workers smile.
I hear them rattle off name after name of plants as they help other people.

I stare at them, amazed at their knowledge.
I think you will like this plant, the woman with a British accent said pointing.
It is drought resistant, in case you forget to water them.
I wanted to correct her and tell her that I was actually a good plant water-er.

She said the name of the plant very quickly while I was busy reading the care tag.
I was reading about the amount of sunlight and the amount of water it needed.
I was busy putting each of the hanging baskets in the wagon the nursery provided.
I was busy imagining how the baskets would look on my deck.

I drove home and realized that I didn’t remember the name of the plant.
I wanted to go back but thought better of it.
Either I would never know the name, or I would ask the next time I was at the nursery.
I decided the latter seemed like a good idea.

How I love this particular plant.
It thrives in the heat of the day and in the full sun that shines on my deck.
It blooms with beautiful purple and white flowers.
And then something wonderful happens.

Something wonderful happens as soon as the sun begins to go down.
As the pink and orange hues of the sunset fill the sky, the flowers close.
The beautiful purple and white flowers simply close up.
When I first noticed that the flowers were there and then they were gone, I worried.

Was it something I had done?
Was the sun too strong?
How could a plant be filled with open flowers one minute and not the next?
It was a mystery.

The next time I was at the nursery, I asked about my plant.
I walked up to the woman with the British accent and took her over to the plant itself.
This is what I have on my deck; what is it called?
Oh, that is portulaca, she said making the word sound more elegant than it was.

She began to mention all the things I had already learned about the plant.
She failed to mention the one thing I found most fascinating.
She is probably not working at the nursery when the sun begins to go down.
Whatever she knew in theory, she may not have experienced in reality.

I was about to tell her what intrigued me about the plant.
I didn’t want that smile again, the smile that the knowledgeable does to the naive.
I kept the information to myself.
I went home and did some research on my own.

All portulacas need sun for their flowers to open. The flowers of older varieties closed up around noon. But most plants sold today have blooms that stay open all day. They stay closed at night and on cloudy days.

There it was!
My plant only opened in the sun.
My plant closed at night.
My plant closed when storm clouds were overhead.

God is light; in Him there is no darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with Him yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live by the truth. But if we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son, purifies us from all sin. (1 John 1:5-7)

I want to be like my portulaca.
I want to be vibrantly blooming in the Light of the Son.
I want to close up in the darkness.
I want to close up as the storm clouds approach.

I want my beauty to be because of the Son.
I want others to see the bloom of my spiritual walk and be drawn to Him.
God is Light.
I want to be in His Light.

We thrive in Full Son.
We are drought resistant.
If we are filled with His Living Water then there is a Spring of Water within us.
We have a Spring of Water that wells up to eternal life. (John 4:13,14)

There was more that I discovered in my portulaca research.
Portulacas are forgiving plants that can tolerate a little neglect.
May I be a forgiving plant in the Lord’s Garden that thrives though neglected.
May I thrive only in the Son and close up in the darkness of this world.

Amen.

2 responses to “A Plant Mystery”

1. I want to be a portulaca too! They are hardy little plants that enjoy the sun (Son)!

   Reply

   • You and me both, Sue!
     Gina

     Reply