In late spring a few months ago, while it was still very cold out, a few sisters and I went to a free plant exchange. There weren’t many options that day, but I came home with a tomato plant. It was one of the ones that was left after everyone else picked over the selections: an unseemly, tiny sprout in a plastic July 4th-themed cup. It didn’t appear very promising, and when the weather turned warm, I left it outside for a few days before finally planting it in the ground without much thought. What can come out of such a small life as this — disregarded, without prospects? I wasn’t even sure if it was a tomato plant. I dug a hole with my fingers and shoved in the tiny sprout. No one expected it to thrive. That would be a miracle.
After that, because of a busy summer, I forgot about this plant. I neither watered it nor tended to it. But midsummer, much to my surprise, what began dismally had grown waist high, the vine doubling over on itself. There were the beginnings of flowers — not many, just two or three. I leaned the vine against a bird feeder pole left over from gardening — a tall six-foot-tall iron rod that we didn’t use in the main part of the garden. A lanky, skinny vine against the tall pole, it looked ridiculously unfit at the time.
After a few weeks, the once tiny “sprout in a cup” came to stand more than six feet tall. Spreading vertically and horizontally, the vine climbed, its top stem, once half the length of the pole, now reached above it. It wrapped snugly around the iron rod a few stems still reaching tenaciously skyward. Even late in the season, it was still sending life upward — little yellow and white flowers cluster at the top and all around like stars. Hidden in its tendrils, those early blossoms became three shiny and ripening heirloom tomatoes, beautiful with irregular ridges with the fullness of bursting life juice within.
To catch the time in what was late summer, nearing autumn’s chill, the plant needed some active care. Directing its final blast of energy toward the fruiting members, I trimmed the branches back, cutting away “suckers,” reducing the bulk of the plant. Let the light into the middle of the plant. Let the sun touch and ripen the fruits. Let the energy be appropriately distributed from the vine to the branches, where it matters the most.
On one hand, I regret that the fruits are so few; I should have tended more to it earlier in the season. Perhaps it would have done better; we would have had more fruit. On the other hand, this experience gave me new appreciation for life, to feel humbled and grateful. Indeed, I did nothing, but life accomplished everything; it reaches, it grows, it flowers, it fruits. Even now as fall starts, it is still reaching. With hope, it is flowering.
From despised to reaching over the wall, the plant did what the life within it does. It displays the dignity of life; it is the most beautiful miracle of the posture of life. Its attitude toward the sun and its reliance on the iron pole deeply encourages me. It should encourage all those who live under God’s light and are nourished in God’s house. Let us hold tightly to this divine life within us, and let life operate its work organically inside us. All our life is timed by His hand, and on that same hand, we lean and grasp tightly.
Lord, we were wretched, poor, and without promise — outside of Your household. It is a miracle that we’ve come this far. By faith today, whenever we turn deep inside, we can feel a sense within us, that You are in us, and we are in You. This sense is miraculous indeed. It ties us securely to the house, Your Body, your church. We are not yet numb, not yet stagnant. With the time we have, help us to focus our time and energy on the things that matter. Send forth the juice of life. Make us overcomers, abiding in the vine!
– RC