Years ago, with a desire to decorate the long but narrow balcony of our home, I purchased a 5-gallon Ficus Benjamina plant. Tucked in the corner of the west end of our house, it offered a focal point for an otherwise floating space. For years, it was there. It never died; it never grew. It just was. From time to time, I would determine that something needed to be done with it, but nothing ever was until one day a new tender for our land was employed, and his first order of business would be the treasured canyon below.
I don’t remember what provoked the thought, but upon his arrival, I asked him to take the stunted tree and move it to an ideal spot on our land where it would thrive. My grand son was appalled. “Grandma! Our tree!” But I determined it needed to be in a place where the roots would not be bound by the confines of a plastic bin and the limited presence of sunlight. A place where the roots could travel and reach destinations that may never have been explored. A place where the branches would soar to the skies above and provide a resting place for wandering birds, and an arc of shade for the scurrying little creatures below.
My eyes have been attentive since the day it was transplanted. It hadn’t died; it hadn’t grown.
And then.
Today, I stood on the edge of the balcony, elbows planted on the banister with binoculars firmly planted in place, and I found the beloved tree. Once struggling to keep the fragile, curly leaves attached, now they were billowing from the happy trunk. My inclinations were right. As it turns out, this little plant, in free conditions, can grow up to 98’ tall.
Once again, my mind travels inward as I consider what I see to what I feel, and what I know. We are like the little tree. So prone to stay tucked away in the corner of a shady spot, safe in the confines of what we have always known. And yet, when we are set free and given opportunities to explore other places, people, lands, and skies, God would only bring us growth. Prolific growth.
Our lives, once lived in a place of survival and consumption, are suddenly afforded a place of exploration and contribution. A place where the roots of who we are grow deeply to the sources of who He is, and because of that, we, like the tree, provide an arc of sanctuary to the wandering birds and sun-weary travelers.
Be not afraid of change, Believer. In His natural state – growth, beauty, purpose and meaning. We must give Him room to make it so.
