I’ve killed about twenty pots of basil. I kept trying, but they all died until one friend told me: you’ve got to let is struggle. You’ve got to withhold water from your pot of basil until it visibly struggles and starts to falter. Then give it lots of water but never soak its roots.
So I let it struggle. I observed that while it struggled it made plenty of little leaves, but it never really "launched" them. There were lots and lots of tiny leaves. Weird. But it wasn’t faltering quite yet. Then my flatmate noticed how dry the earth was and she soaked it. I was pissed. My basil had not died yet in a month and a half and now she had soaked it. The basil finally launched all its tiny leaves. All of them. Thousands of them. I’ve never seen the pot of basil look quite so healthy!
So there was a book I hated almost as much as I hate stupid plant parables (and I promise this one will be an exception). It was a book about how to be a perfect preacher’s wife. I had gotten it in order to get into the mind frame of my neighbour, a CoE minister whose wholesome lifestyle and perfect kids puzzle me to no end, and whose cats I sometimes get to feed. I only got one piece of idea from it: a new attitude towards good intentions, failed attempts and assorted old sins. I’ve got a cupboard full of these painful memories.
It’s usual in some discipleship circles to really “get” at good intentions. Hell is paved with good intentions. Good intentions cannot keep a man from hell; they just make him more amusing when he gets there. Get to work you lazy bourgeois kid! I felt like a ton of shit. But the author of that book was of the opinion that these were just a cupboard full of bits and pieces that could be used by God at a later point to spun some new things.
It could be that these are plenty of tiny leaves not yet launched and that I could treasure them instead. It could be that all those past shortcomings can turn into a wealth of resources. It could be that the painful memory of my full-on treasons will keep pride at bay and soak my character a bit for the task to come. I hope that’s it. Because last week it scared the shit out of me when I realized that there were things I really wasn’t prepared to sacrifice even for God. Not that I was expected to at that point (although I’m still not 100% sure to be honest). So understandably, right now I need all the stupid plant parables I can get.
So I let it struggle. I observed that while it struggled it made plenty of little leaves, but it never really "launched" them. There were lots and lots of tiny leaves. Weird. But it wasn’t faltering quite yet. Then my flatmate noticed how dry the earth was and she soaked it. I was pissed. My basil had not died yet in a month and a half and now she had soaked it. The basil finally launched all its tiny leaves. All of them. Thousands of them. I’ve never seen the pot of basil look quite so healthy!
So there was a book I hated almost as much as I hate stupid plant parables (and I promise this one will be an exception). It was a book about how to be a perfect preacher’s wife. I had gotten it in order to get into the mind frame of my neighbour, a CoE minister whose wholesome lifestyle and perfect kids puzzle me to no end, and whose cats I sometimes get to feed. I only got one piece of idea from it: a new attitude towards good intentions, failed attempts and assorted old sins. I’ve got a cupboard full of these painful memories.
It’s usual in some discipleship circles to really “get” at good intentions. Hell is paved with good intentions. Good intentions cannot keep a man from hell; they just make him more amusing when he gets there. Get to work you lazy bourgeois kid! I felt like a ton of shit. But the author of that book was of the opinion that these were just a cupboard full of bits and pieces that could be used by God at a later point to spun some new things.
It could be that these are plenty of tiny leaves not yet launched and that I could treasure them instead. It could be that all those past shortcomings can turn into a wealth of resources. It could be that the painful memory of my full-on treasons will keep pride at bay and soak my character a bit for the task to come. I hope that’s it. Because last week it scared the shit out of me when I realized that there were things I really wasn’t prepared to sacrifice even for God. Not that I was expected to at that point (although I’m still not 100% sure to be honest). So understandably, right now I need all the stupid plant parables I can get.
1 comment:
Hey Dany,
It's really good to see you writing again. I've missed reading what you have to say.
Hope all is well.
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