month or so it has become a determined monster, stretching tendrils out into the air, not even caring when it can't find anything to latch on to, but claiming the nearby tree it did find with a vengeance. On Saturday, I cut back some of the reaching hands. There were tendrils that had intertwined with other tendrils, strengthening into cords. I really emotionally hesitated trimming the plant back. Such dogged persistence should be awarded, not hacked away with scissors. I made sure the cuttings got inside the yard & garden bin and weren't able to latch on to the nearby oleander. I had no doubt that, even trapped inside a plastic bin, one of those vines could latch on to a host tree and begin growing its dominion again.
Meanwhile, my pansies are more temperamental. On the porch? Shriveled. Under the backyard tree? Gasped for life. On the chairs next to the house? Nearly died. Under the front yard tree? Happy! But even then, as the summer heart intensifies, I'm fairly certain they will wither again, permanently this time.
Our spiritual lives--our affections--our response to God's pursuit--are we more like the determined green tendrils, always pushing forward, or are we more like the pansy, needing the conditions to be just right to meet with the Lord, always on the edge of wilting? Different seasons, different levels of strength, right? Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it; prone to leave the God I love.
There is grace to take whatever level of strength we have right now and, not compare ourselves to a different plant, but take what we do have and push a bit deeper. And then a bit deeper still. To make another hard but necessary choice. To stay a little bit longer in silence, in the Word, in prayer. Until one day we can look back, see our growth, and praise God for His preservation when we were weak.
