Reaching for the Light
You might remember when I wrote about the petunias I’ve been growing in my hydroponics planters. The ones that were supposed to be dark blue/purple with white speckles, but which are in fact a very pale pink. Well, I didn’t throw them out or anything. They’ve continued to grow, and I haven’t pinched them back very often like you’re supposed to.
As a result, they’ve grown very tall and leggy, well past the level of the lights in the planters. And they really went crazy while we were gone. This is what they look like now:
I won’t even be able to open those cupboards until I cut them back.
God has used those silly petunias to teach me an object lesson since yesterday. Remember, I was already in deep distress before I received devastating news yesterday that had me crying out for mercy. Every time I think I can’t bear any more sorrow, more is heaped upon me, it seems.
But yesterday as I walked through the sunroom toward the laundry room, something caught my eye.
Some greenery poking out between two storage bins on the cabinet next to my hydroponics planters. I took a closer look.
This petunia stem had somehow found that dark narrow opening and had grown along it, reaching for the light that comes in through the west-facing windows of the sunroom. I showed it to both Walter and Jasper, because it is kind of remarkable.
It also serves as a reminder that darkness doesn’t last forever, and that I can choose to seek the light. If I have learned anything over the last four years, it’s that you can be filled with grief and sorrow—and still find joy in every day. Sorrow need not drive away joy, and joy does not negate the presence of a broken heart. The two can coexist. I can still savor a cup of tea, or delight in the sunshine slanting through the windows at an angle that tells me autumn will someday get here. I can reach out to my friends and experience their care and concern. (I am so thankful for my many dear friends!) I can reach out to God.
So, as always, instead of wallowing in my misery in this space, I will do my best to focus on the little joys and triumphs of my daily life, as I always have. I won’t be able to help mentioning my distress at times, but I don’t ever want that to be the focus of my entries, or for this to be a depressing place for you to hang out. I don’t see how dwelling on heartache is good for anyone.
P.S. After taking the photo of the petunias, I did cut them way back—except for the valiant little stem that reached through the darkness and into the light near the window. I believe it deserves a chance to thrive. And so do I.