Parsin' Parsley

A couple of weeks ago, I started the tedious process of transplanting and re-locating my plants. My dad had made a comment about the fact that we were supposed to have measurable snow by November 1st this year, so I wanted to make sure that I saved as many accent plants as possible for graduation next spring. Since the parsley had been doing well all summer, I decided to move the pot into the house and set it by the kitchen sink.

As I was doing dishes this evening, I glanced over at the parsley. Over the past couple of days, the leaves had been a little droopy and yellowed. Clearly, the plant was dissatisfied with its current location; it longed to be outside where it had been warm, productive, thriving, and ok, I'll just say it, happy. As if to underscore that fact, the stems and leaves were straining toward the sunlight tonight (see picture).

I can totally relate.

I never seem to weather the seasons of life very well. I don't throw tantrums or objects. I don't cuss (out loud) or bawl (in front of people), but I generally don't like it, mostly because I'm sad about something I know I'll never get back again. Likewise, I tend to grieve the seemingly stupid things in life. For example, even though he is almost 20 years old, I remember rocking Nick to sleep every night - his weight and smell. There is a flat spot on Erika's nose where a kiss used to fit perfectly; now, kisses are no longer allowed. When Nick started to drive, we all gained some freedom, but I missed our rides to school together. Turning 16 opened a door to Erika's social life, but it meant that she chose to close off a part of herself from me. The situation brings Robert Frost's poem, "Nothing Gold Can Stay" to mind:

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

In my head, I know that these are all changes that must be weathered; in my heart, I feel as though I keep losing more than I am gaining. And so, I can empathize with my parsley as it leans and stretches towards its heart's desire.

I think it's normal to grieve that which is gone; I don't think it's ok to erect a statue to those memories and close them off with a fence around my heart. The fact that I'm sad that those days and memories are gone means that I enjoyed them, and that's a blessing in and of itself.

While I don't know what will happen next, I think I would be wise to follow the parsley's example - stretch to the light. Just as the light is necessary for the parsley to live to the fullest, the same is true for me. Likewise, I have been created with eyes facing forward, not on the back of my head, which means my focus should be on what's to come, not where I have been. That doesn't mean that the past is irrelevant; however, choosing to stay there means missing out on intended blessings.

James 1:17 "Whatever is good and perfect comes down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens. He never changes or casts a shifting shadow."