My plants died and seeing them withered and sad somehow felt symbolic, mirroring what I felt inside. I couldn’t dispose of them immediately and when I did, it felt like a part of me left alongside them.
Now, before you accuse my of being dramatic, I know they are just plants, let me explain.
A week ago, Joey, A, and I returned from a sweet and special trip to Texas to visit my family. We drove through the night on the way there and surprised my siblings, then took the trek back a week later, driving 13 hours to make it home to resume ‘normal life’ on Monday morning. The 24 hours following our arrival home were flooded with complexity as we encountered home-owner issues with our heater and frozen pipes. With both of those things safely tackled, we moved on to the challenge that COVID brought as I tested positive Monday and began my quarantine at home.
I stop here to share that in the midst of the difficulties these three adversities brought, I am thankful for how I have come through COVID on the other side, with little to complain about. I grieve for those that cannot say this for themselves.
Now, I digress.
Perhaps now it makes more sense that my dead house plants, who could not survive the low temps in our home when our heater kicked off, sat on their shelves waiting for me to dispose of them for much longer than they should have.
When I finally got the courage and confidence to place them in the trash, I took a deep sigh. There is something special about house plants, for me at least. I love the warmth they bring to a home and the brightness and color they offer. Over half of mine were gone now.
After releasing each one, I then addressed what was to be done with their containers. That is when I realized that one of them, a cheerful little Pothos, that my mother gave me some time back, was still hanging out in our room, happier than ever. I made a clipping and put him in water, to grow roots. Hopefully, that intention become reality.
Standing in front of my plant, trimming it to provide a new plant, I realized something profound. The heaviness and darkness of the week, those emotions I was feeling, were symbolically visualized in the letting go of the old (dead parts) and the trimming to create new growth in exchange.
Sometimes the releasing of the old, the parts that no longer serve us well, is painful. It often feels that way for me and yet, there is something beautiful about the hope of new growth and beauty.
As this year begins, perhaps you can resonate with the releasing of old things, old habits, old relationships, or an old part of yourself. If that is the case, or whenever that season comes for you, I hope and pray that you may be reminded of the truths that nature displays in its very essence, dying leads to new life. It often requires patience, but it is worth the journey and the wait.
Happy Homestead 