Psalm 73:26 ~ My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (ESV)
I am an assassin.
I donāt mean to be. Itās not like I set out to be a cold-hearted killer.Ā But time and time again, it happens.
I wonder if all the vibrant plants at the garden center try to shrivel up as I pass by.
āOh, no. Itās her.ā The whispers travel from root to leaf, from pansy to snapdragon.
āNot her!ā
āYep. Sheās the one who can kill anythingā¦even ivyā¦do you know how hard it is to kill ivy?ā
āLook puny, everyone.ā
I browse the aisles with the best of intentions. Of course Iāll water those geraniumsā¦every day. And Iād never think to plant the vinca in the shade, or the impatiens in full sun.
But my good intentions last until itās 99 degrees at 5AM. I fail to water. And the flowersā¦die.
So it might surprise you to know that Iāve kept one Peace lily alive for over three years. Iāll admit that itās not as large or lush as it once was, but it is still alive.
And I think I know why.
It gets droopy.
Have you seen this? If a Peace lily needs water, it flops all over the pot. It practically screams āHelp me!ā to the point that even someone as inattentive as me canāt help but notice that the poor thing is dying and needs a drink.
So I take two minutes, douse it, and the next time I pass by, there it stands. All perky again.
Iāve been thinking about this over the past few days. Ever since my Peace lily once again made a miraculous recovery.
Because I have another plant (donāt ask me what it is) thatās not so lucky. This plant is tough. Itās a survivor. But it doesnāt make it easy on itself. Poor thing usually only gets watered when I realize the Peace lily is on life support and I water them both at the same time.
That plant stands there, refusing to bend to the pressure. Its leaves maintain their upright position until theyāre crispy. Even then, the only clue that there might be a problem is when the leaves fade from green to brown.
I have actually killed one of these already, so I know. That plant will die before it shows weakness.
All this got me thinking.
I think my life would be better if I would get droopy.
If instead of always toughing it out, I would admit that I need some help. If Iād let people in on the fact that Iām drying up and need some waterābefore Iām crispy and dead inside.
Our culture has ingrained in us that showing weakness is equal to being weak. We value toughness. Weāre impressed with strength. We live by the mantra ānever let āem see you sweatā.
But I donāt think Godās impressed with our tough guy personas.
Take King David as an example. He wrote multiple psalms that basically say āWould you help me out, Iām dying here.ā
David knew how to get droopy.
And despite thatāor maybe because of itāthe Bible says that David was a man after Godās own heart.
You may have been recently watered. Your perkiness may be genuine. But if it isnāt, can I make a suggestion?
Get droopy.
Take your limp limbs to the source of living water. Beg Him to help you out. And thenāthis is keyāaccept the help He sendsāan offer of babysitting, an invitation to dinner, help with the dishes, a phone call from a friendātake a long drink. And another. And another.
And live.
Father, We thank you that You are the source of Living Water. Give us grace to seek refreshment in and through You.
Great post, Lynn. That picture of a droopy peace plant has me thinking. It’s easy to look tough, but getting honest or real can be scary. Might be just what’s needed though.
Loved this post, Lynn.
I can’t help but wonder how often I miss “droopy” signs in others — but thanks to this post, I’ll be more alert — and more willing to reveal my own limpy limbs.