The
Day My Prayer Plant Died
By
Elece Hollis
October and November were months filled
with trauma and stress. Margaret, a widow woman our family has taken on the
care of over the past fifteen years, became much sicker. There were trips to
the local hospital, transfers to Tulsa hospitals, visits almost daily, and then
a trip back to the nursing home, a move out of her apartment, a setup with
hospice care, more visits, more moving and tending and attending to business. Then
Margaret died and the funeral arrangements, burial arrangements, and financial
arrangements all wore on us. So much to tend to and all the while I had to drum
up enough time and enough emotional strength to tend my family, my students, my
grandchildren, and my work commitments.
You probably
know how I love flowers and grow plants—orchids, cyclamens and African Violets
are my favorites. This summer I had started a prayer plant. A pretty
houseplant, Maranta or prayer plant, is so called because in the evening the
leaves begin to fold up and completely close in the dark. In the morning light
they will spread their leaves again.
After the
funeral I began to try to catch up. I cleaned house, washed tons of laundry,
filled my birdfeeders, finished a writing assignment, and worked on my
houseplants. The prayer plant had been set out of the way behind a
Philodendron. It hadn't been getting any attention, no sun or water. Most of
the once red-backed leaves were crumpled and brown. All were bent and curled
from their edges like sheets of paper in the hands of a nervous child.
If my prayers
were so neglected as this plant had been I would not fare so well. I would never
make it when times got tough. But the times when I am most distressed are the
times when God calls me close and I can hear his voice and speak out my fears,
trials, and hurts to Him. He listens. His voice comforts me. He reminds me that
I am His child and He cares for me. He holds my hand and guides me through.
It is during
the good times and the unremarkable days that my prayer life is at risk. Then I
may go all day without sharing my
thoughts and my heart with the Lord Jesus or listening to his guiding voice. So
sad. If I only spoke to my husband when
I was in trouble or only spoke with my relatives or friends when I needed help
how would those relationships fare? Not so well, I think.
So I want to
learn what the prayer plant showed me. Pray in the sunshine. Grow new leaves.
Produce a flower or many blooms. Pray and build the roots that will hold me
close, close, close, in times of despair and tribulation. I snipped the dead leaves from my Maranta and
gave it some water and sunshine. Hey! Two leaves are raising their faces again
and folding their hearts to pray again. All is not lost! Thanks, Jesus. Yes, I
hear ya.
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