Wilted?

Greetings from coastal Carolina!

The region of the U.S. known as… the steamy/sticky/stifling southeast.

The sweltering seaside.

The sauna states.

We’ve been running the A/C 24/7 ’round here. And we do not turn on the oven. Ever. (Plenty of peanut butter and Rice Chex in the pantry. No one’s going hungry.)

But we are pretty sweaty.

And flushed.

And a little lightheaded.

Don’t even ask about our air quality. (Currently a killer combo of humidity/pollen/dead fish stench.)

It doesn’t help that the heat index for the better part of July fluctuated between St. Elmo’s Fire and Dante’s Inferno. I don’t know much about global warming and ozone layers and heatwaves, but I think I’ve got a fairly good idea of how it feels to hang out near the surface of the sun. Pretty sure we were issued a National Weather Service warning last week:

47% chance of spontaneous combustion.

My flowers (and my people) are wilting.

We’ve reached that point in the summer where the porch planters beg to be re-potted with asters or chrysanthemums or those crazy cabbage-looking plants (the unapologetic attention-grabbers in every autumnal arrangement.) Frankly, my Wave Petunias are no longer waving. Their limbs are… well… limp. No more friendly “hello” on my front porch. Just a weary, withered sigh.

I remember when I first brought them home from the garden shop. The leaves were vibrant and verdant, lush and lovely. I took in their simple beauty every morning while sipping my iced coffee and talking to their Designer.

Have you ever looked closely at the veins of a leaf? Ever examined those delicate, web-like patterns and considered all the scientific processes and natural wonders that transpire within? I’ll be honest. I remember very little from the botany unit in my biology class. But here’s what I do recall: something crazy and cool happens when a plant or tree is supplied with all the right stuff: good soil, sunlight, water. The roots soak up water and minerals from the soil and carry them up the base and through the branches and into the leaves. And inside those leaves, a pretty magical process called photosynthesis takes place. The petunia/plant/shrub/tree gets energy, fuel to live and grow and produce flowers or fruit. 

Oh, and it gives a little something back, too. Oxygen.

Bonus!

I think there’s another supernatural process that happens when we humans do the same thing. When we dig into God’s word and soak up the living water Jesus offers… tiny seeds of faith start to grow. When we read, receive and genuinely believe what scripture says. When we ponder and pray it, it energizes us, becomes our life-fuel. It powers and propels us… and protects us too. When we’re nourished by the promises of God and grow up into his light, love and life-wisdom, we don’t wither/wilt/shrivel up/dry out.

Oh, the joys of those who do not follow evil men’s advice, who do not hang around with sinners, scoffing at the things of God. But they delight in doing everything God wants them to, and day and night are always meditating on his laws and thinking about ways to follow him more closely.

They are like trees along a riverbank bearing luscious fruit each season without fail. Their leaves shall never wither, and all they do shall prosper. ~ Psalm 1:1-3 (TLB)

We grow and bloom and bear fruit.

We prosper.

Lush and lovely.

And then another crazy-cool thing happens. As we take root in God’s word, we are comforted, uplifted, refreshed, blessed. We grow sturdy and strong.

And we find help and hope and healing.

But then, invariably…

We get distracted or discouraged or busy or (let’s be honest) a bit bored. We get complacent/overconfident/a little too comfortable and we stop digging in, soaking up, basking in the Son. We get undernourished, dehydrated. And we start to wilt.

Just like my petunias.

But here’s the good news:

Withering leaves perk up pretty quickly when they get a good soaking.

So drink up, buttercup.

Perk up… and prosper.

Bloom and bear fruit.

(In every season and all kinds of weather.)

Forever a flower child,

Wendy

P.S. If you’re feeling wilted/withered/weakened by blistering circumstances or a season of drought, keep trusting the Master Gardener.

He’ll take good care of you.

Promise.

But blessed are those who trust in the Lord and have made the Lord their hope and confidence. They are like trees planted along a riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green and they never stop producing fruit. ~ Jeremiah 17:7-8 (NLT)