A Potted Plant

In college my room was nicknamed, "The Jungle." When I moved to West Africa in 2006 I had to find homes for over 50 houseplants. My favorite season is Spring when I can be outside digging in the cool soil, getting dirt caked beneath my fingernails, so that I can transform the wasteland of a backyard into a garden paradise.

A plant in the garden thrives. It enjoys the stability of consistent light, water, and soil.

I was that type of plant for a while. My roots had penetrated deep, soaking up the consistency of routine, friends and family close at hand, and a well-paying job that I loved.

There comes a time when a plant must be moved. A sharp-bladed shovel must sever root ball from soil and transplant the garden specimen into a pot. With proper fertilization, and regular water and sunlight, the plant will do well until its new location has been identified.

I've been that potted plant for nearly three years now.

In 2006, I said goodbye to my friends and family, my car, my home, and my garden. Though I enjoyed the greenhouse of the tropics for a season, I now find myself moving from place to place in my Jeep Wrangler. It's a simple life, and for that I am thankful. I am mobile.

Yet with the roots bound against the inside of some terracotta, I look forward to a garden somewhere, sometime.

God is faithful. In a way we are all potted plants. The only garden that will really satisfy is the one we will be planted in after we hear the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."