Horticultural hour

After several weeks of doing nothing in the garden, this afternoon I decided to tackle a few pots that needed attention, as well as one area where several seedlings had sprung up when the parent plant was removed.

After getting quite a bit done, I finally approached the last task of the afternoon. One pot contained a plant that needed re-potting. It had needed re-potting when we first moved in here, back in September, but I just haven't had the time or inclination to tackle it before today. I gathered the required equipment, and set to work.

After a while, Graeme (who was bathing Nellie at the time) called to me out of the window to ask if I needed help. A while later, Nellie called out to ask if I was ok (all together now: ag, sweet!). The reason was that I was making a tremendous amount of noise trying to get this plant out of the pot. It was well and truly pot-bound. I tried everything: knocking it on the ground while on its side; sticking various tools down the side between the soil and the pot to loosen the roots; scraping at the soil with my fingers and pulling on the plant. All to no avail. Eventually, the only solution was to break the pot it was in. (I think it was an asbestos pot... certainly it was made of something fibrous... so I wasn't too upset.)

During this process, I fund myself talking to the plant. Talking to plants (and inanimate objects) is something I do. Force of habit, I guess. I found myself telling this poor plant to stop being so obstinate, and to let go of the pot. I told it that it would be much happier in its new, bigger pot, with room to spread its roots, and lots of new fertile soil to get nutrients from. But of course, the plant wasn't letting go because its roots had grown into the pot.

Reflecting on this, I realised that often we are just like this plant. We get so comfortable in our little lives that we simply refuse to allow ourselves to be moved. Although we are dying and stagnating where we are, we simply can't extricate ourselves from our situations - either because we are too scared we will lose some of our 'roots' (which happens when you re-pot a root-bound plant), or because our 'roots' are so firmly embedded into our 'pot' that no amount of shaking or coaxing can dislodge us. Then, there are only two options available - refuse to move and die; or break the 'pot' in order to enable ourselves to move.

With everything that we've been through in the past 2 years, I think I'd quite like to get comfy in my life. We've been looking at buying a house - not just any house, but THE house we want to live in for the rest of our married lives, THE house we want to raise our children in. When we move into THE house, I never want to move again - or at least, not until I need to downsize because I'm moving into a retirement village! I want to get comfy.

I think we've found the perfect house... it ticks all the boxes, has development potential to stop me getting bored too quickly and has this... FEELING about it. It's hard to describe. I know that many people will say this is new-agey, but I can sense a spiritual atmosphere in buildings and in certain areas. This house and me... we click. I know this house will be mine one day.

There is a slight problem though - this house is out of our price range. Only just, but enough that we can't afford it without putting ourselves in dire financial straits. I've had to grapple with reconciling how I feel about this house (it's not the prettiest, by far... it actually needs a lot of work) with what common sense tells me. We simply can't afford this house.

As I ponder my horticultural hour though, it dawns on me that getting comfy is not all its cracked up to be. So maybe it's a good thing we can't afford this house.

That doesn't stop me dreaming about it though. I have dreamt about this house every night now for over a week. That's never happened to me before! Things that I've dreamt about like this have usually been relationships that I've wanted or needed to figure out. I've never dreamt about an object like this before, which in itself seems rather revealing to me.

When I was a teenager, I remember someone telling me that I ought to be specific when asking God for a husband, and to be as picky as I liked, because God could (and would) provide someone who ticked all my boxes. The fact that this house ticked all the boxes - both the needs and the wants - seems pretty remarkable to me. Maybe it is meant to be ours, but we need to wait a few months for the asking price to come down. (Though how others who have the money wouldn't want to snap this property up is beyond me - it's an incredible property!)

Usually I'm not comfortable waiting. Usually, I'd be miserable as sin and sulking and stamping my feet, because I WANT this house and I'd wangle a way to get it. Unusually for me, I'm actually ok with letting it go. I've written to the owner, and the agent, to say that while we are interested, we can't afford it, and to give us a ring in a few months if it's still on the market. I can't explain it, but I have this odd peace that this house will come into our possession... maybe just not now. Maybe we will wind up buying something else and then buying this house in a few years time. I don't know. What I do know is that the God who has been so faithful to us in every other way will be faithful to us in providing the perfect home for us - which may not be my ideal home, but which will suit us perfectly never the less. (And secretly I keep thinking that if THIS house is already on the horizon, and it's not meant for us... then God must have something truly amazing lined up for us!)

And so it's struck me that this past year, as we've grieved Zoe, as we've been reliant upon the support of others for a home and for our finances, I've grown up a bit. I think I've learnt to be more content in being uncomfortable. While I long to get comfy in my little pot, I'm more tolerant of being uncomfortable, in a less predictable situation. I've learnt that, while things seem unclear to me, somehow, they always work out okay in the end. How that happens, I don't know. It's a mystery, but one that God is in control of; one that a humble root-bound plant in a pot reminded me of this afternoon.