Uprooted and Replanted.

Although life is short, it is enough time to understand where you have been, and where you are going.
~H. Nouwen

How old do we need to be before we can turn around and view our life to understand that we have traveled many steps? How often are we supposed to stop, sit, reflect, and seek understanding of our experiences? How long do transitions take–to get from one area of life and growth to another?

I am homesick for a home that I no longer have. I am lonely for a place that I will no longer go. My heart aches for a life that I was  ready to finally leave.

Stockholm Syndrome?

When a plant is left in a baby pot for too long the roots turn back in on one another and suffocate themselves. You must continue to re-pot and replant the seedling until the roots have enough space to dig down deep and grow strong enough to support the plant. Without enough space the plant will die.

But, at the time of the transplant, the roots are wrenched from their dirt home and become exposed to direct sunlight. It burns, it hurts, and it’s intense. This stage may go on for a while, until a new pot, no, not just a pot–but a brand new hole is prepared for the plant. Finally the plant and its fragile roots are placed back into a familiar environment–the dirt…but not just potting soil, this is ground.

Ground. Dirt. Land. Earth. There are different minerals and bugs and levels of nitrogen and water and oxygen. There are other plants reaching their roots around–being caressed by other plants and worms and particles too small to be seen.

Does the plant ever miss its home in a pot on the window sill? Would it ever prefer a ceramic pot (however beautifully ornate) to these bugs and worms and surrounding roots?

Maybe not…

But I miss my ceramic pot by the window sill. It was decorated in bright yellow designs–attracting and reflecting the sun’s rays. I miss the morning routine of being watered from a plastic can–pouring out in a flowery shower of tap water.

I miss being the center of attention as people sit for breakfast–because now, I’m just another plant in the garden. I’m not displayed–I feel displaced. It takes time for my roots to sink into this hydrated ground and get used to the foreign bugs and chemical levels…

But are the flowers, plants, ferns–are they really meant to be displayed as a single showpiece? Are they not much more beautiful when orange and pink and white and green collide with stems and leaves and petals and sunlight? Is not a garden more breath-taking than a single pot?

Although I know this garden is beautiful, I crave a little extra care from the gardener. I need help finding the sun. I need help stretching my roots. I need help growing. I need help understanding where I have been and where I am going.

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