I moved the plants outdoors. The past fourteen days they have seen little to no water. Actually, I should just stick with "no water" even though "little" softens it a bit. They are literally on their last leg with wilting arms hanging limp and all pathetic and requiring a grooming session of dead and shriveled leaves that felt more like an afternoon of fall raking. We could have jumped in the pile they left.
So I took them outside onto our little porch in the hopes of restoring some new life to these poor neglected souls. Fresh air, sunshine, and daily (hourly?) baths of cold, clear water. They actually looked remarkably better just by sitting in the sun, and having the dust wiped off their tired leaves. I am feeling like a terrible plant mother.
As with the plants, so goes the spirit, and mine has felt in need of freshness, light and living water too these recent days. The readings for Lent continue and today's was no less on the mark. I love the pairing of John 8 and Numbers 21... anyone who looks up and believes will live. It's funny how thin that line between life and death can suddenly appear. Most days we live with it as if it were unbreakable, or something we can navigate with choice and power and sophisticated capability. But really, we're all chaff in the wind, made strong by the One and only Bread of Life.