These tomatoes prove that God doesn't need me
In case you clicked because you know me and might worry a bit about the title of this post, let me start by saying, "I'm sorry. I kinda tricked you. It's called click-bait for a reason." This post contains many things, but the bottom line is that I am no worse off than usual, and am not in any danger of self-harm.
Now onward to The Saga of the Kidnapped Tomato!
So last summer, I got the harebrained scheme to try and grow stuff. I say it in this fashion because my forte has usually always run more along the lines of plant homicide by neglect, but I figured that, since my health makes me housebound more frequently than not these days, I maybe stood a chance of being here to tend to growing things. So I planted a few seeds, and tried my best to remember them, and then failed most of them in spectacular fashion. I may have been less than 50 feet away at all times, but they still died outside and inside my house like I was doing it on purpose. Except for one little tomato plant. This little dude actually held in there long enough for me to realize that I was still pretty crappy at the green thumb thing, and took up the suggestion that I leave it out over the summer in an area where nature was able to water it for me (instead of on my back patio under the roof). The tomato seemed to like this idea and took to it rather well.
Then came Hurricane Irma. In preparing for the worst, I knew I'd have to keep the one plant still kickin' in the garage so as not to have it swept off in gale-forced winds, but I figured I'd let it get all the sunshine it possibly could before the last minute that I had to move it inside. I had hoped this would mean it had a better chance of survival. So about 12 hours before the storm was due to hit (spoiler alert: my first hurricane was a bit underwhelming given my expectations, so I was over prepared given the fact we had no flooding, loss of power, or downed trees in my neighborhood), I went out to rescue my plantling.
No tomato in sight. I was a victim of that ever-present evil: hurricane induced tomato-napping!
Bummer.
Cut to 4 months later: a particularly precocious foliage-care specialist went a bit overboard on our shrubberies one Monday morning. After the allergens had settled from all the work, I ventured outside to observe the hard labors. And there, no longer stuck in the back of a shrubbery by the wall, was a tomato plant. And it was significantly not as small as the last time I'd seen it! Much like the father of the Prodigal Son, I messaged my family and called them to celebrate the miraculous return with me. UNlike the community in the story, they mostly just laughed at my weirdness instead of roasting any lambs and partying.
And so, the "little tomato that could" went back out to where it could be watered by the clouds and soak up the sun.
It has now been nearly a year, and wouldn't you know it? That little sucker is actually producing tomatoes. It took me another 5 months before I really noticed it again (I did admit I'm really not good with plants, right?), but it's shaping up to produce about 15 grape tomatoes this year so far.
I will admit that I have since gone and provided it with both a little tomato cage to hold it up, and some plant food so it's not nutrient deprived anymore. (some kind neighbor, possibly the same one as moved it to safety before, had propped it up with a large stick in lieu of a cage, so it had a chance)
So, as I sit here after attending the Young Adult Festival at General Convention 79 of the Episcopal Church, and working on creating a new diocesan ministry program for young adults (and dealing with the same old health crap and medical system frustrations I've had for nearly 3 years now), my mantra is to remember this little tomato plant.
Clearly, it was meant to grow. God did most of the work, I was only minimally necessary. Likewise, when I failed the little plant, someone else (with some greater level of knowledge, to boot) came along to help it out in the areas I was failing it. The plant is not my doing, not really, and the rewards are not mine to hoard (even though I could eat a couple pounds of fresh tomatoes a day, if I could). God meant for this little plant to teach me a lesson.
Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth.
It's gonna happen. My help is completely optional, and it'll happen with or without me. I have the free will to opt out, but it's coming either way. However, it feels pretty good to know I'm contributing to the success and not hindering it. By contributing, I'm able to enjoy the results far more than if I'd skipped out. Moreover, by contributing, I gain the great joy of being able to invite others to share in the benefits.
And the same goes for working toward a young adult ministry program. Even if it isn't quite so tasty when topped with blue cheese dip.
Now onward to The Saga of the Kidnapped Tomato!
So last summer, I got the harebrained scheme to try and grow stuff. I say it in this fashion because my forte has usually always run more along the lines of plant homicide by neglect, but I figured that, since my health makes me housebound more frequently than not these days, I maybe stood a chance of being here to tend to growing things. So I planted a few seeds, and tried my best to remember them, and then failed most of them in spectacular fashion. I may have been less than 50 feet away at all times, but they still died outside and inside my house like I was doing it on purpose. Except for one little tomato plant. This little dude actually held in there long enough for me to realize that I was still pretty crappy at the green thumb thing, and took up the suggestion that I leave it out over the summer in an area where nature was able to water it for me (instead of on my back patio under the roof). The tomato seemed to like this idea and took to it rather well.
Then came Hurricane Irma. In preparing for the worst, I knew I'd have to keep the one plant still kickin' in the garage so as not to have it swept off in gale-forced winds, but I figured I'd let it get all the sunshine it possibly could before the last minute that I had to move it inside. I had hoped this would mean it had a better chance of survival. So about 12 hours before the storm was due to hit (spoiler alert: my first hurricane was a bit underwhelming given my expectations, so I was over prepared given the fact we had no flooding, loss of power, or downed trees in my neighborhood), I went out to rescue my plantling.
No tomato in sight. I was a victim of that ever-present evil: hurricane induced tomato-napping!
Bummer.
Cut to 4 months later: a particularly precocious foliage-care specialist went a bit overboard on our shrubberies one Monday morning. After the allergens had settled from all the work, I ventured outside to observe the hard labors. And there, no longer stuck in the back of a shrubbery by the wall, was a tomato plant. And it was significantly not as small as the last time I'd seen it! Much like the father of the Prodigal Son, I messaged my family and called them to celebrate the miraculous return with me. UNlike the community in the story, they mostly just laughed at my weirdness instead of roasting any lambs and partying.
And so, the "little tomato that could" went back out to where it could be watered by the clouds and soak up the sun.
It has now been nearly a year, and wouldn't you know it? That little sucker is actually producing tomatoes. It took me another 5 months before I really noticed it again (I did admit I'm really not good with plants, right?), but it's shaping up to produce about 15 grape tomatoes this year so far.
I will admit that I have since gone and provided it with both a little tomato cage to hold it up, and some plant food so it's not nutrient deprived anymore. (some kind neighbor, possibly the same one as moved it to safety before, had propped it up with a large stick in lieu of a cage, so it had a chance)
So, as I sit here after attending the Young Adult Festival at General Convention 79 of the Episcopal Church, and working on creating a new diocesan ministry program for young adults (and dealing with the same old health crap and medical system frustrations I've had for nearly 3 years now), my mantra is to remember this little tomato plant.
Clearly, it was meant to grow. God did most of the work, I was only minimally necessary. Likewise, when I failed the little plant, someone else (with some greater level of knowledge, to boot) came along to help it out in the areas I was failing it. The plant is not my doing, not really, and the rewards are not mine to hoard (even though I could eat a couple pounds of fresh tomatoes a day, if I could). God meant for this little plant to teach me a lesson.
Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth.
It's gonna happen. My help is completely optional, and it'll happen with or without me. I have the free will to opt out, but it's coming either way. However, it feels pretty good to know I'm contributing to the success and not hindering it. By contributing, I'm able to enjoy the results far more than if I'd skipped out. Moreover, by contributing, I gain the great joy of being able to invite others to share in the benefits.
And the same goes for working toward a young adult ministry program. Even if it isn't quite so tasty when topped with blue cheese dip.
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