I've never been great with plants. Not that we get into arguments or anything, I just tend to ignore them. And for plants, that's not a good thing. I do best with plants that thrive on neglect.
I like plants, though, and wish I were better at keeping them watered. If I remember to water them once a week they seem to do okay. But if I miss watering day, then I may not think about it for another whole week. You see the problem.
I discovered that plants seem to do well at my office. I guess it's the florescent lights. So a year ago or more I took one of my sad little plants to work with me. It wasn't even "Take a Plant to Work Day." It was just a mission of mercy.
I don't know what kind of plant it is. I used to think it was called a Creeping Charlie, but I've since been told that Creeping Charlie is a weed that grows in your grass. My plant is kind of vine-esque with flat, shiny leaves.
Well, most of them are shiny. I noticed recently that there was one small group of leaves in the center of the pot that were decidedly unshiny. They were downright dull. Upon closer inspection I realized that that particular stem had become dried out where it joined the rest of the plant (no doubt due to the aforementioned "neglect" issue). It wasn't exactly dead, but it was not entirely healthy either.
I couldn't help but find a spiritual comparison. When I fail to draw daily from the Word of God, when I neglect spending time in His presence, I, too, become unshiny. Not dead, but certainly lacking in the kind of vibrant life I could have if I were better connected to the Vine. Jesus said, "I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing" (John 15:5).
I cut the unshiny stem off my plant and stuck it in some water. I'm trusting it will sprout new roots and start growing some new, shiny leaves. Maybe that's what I need to do for my times of spiritual dryness. Cut myself off from the rest of the world and saturate myself in God's Word.
Sounds refreshing.
