On Flourishing.

This is Steve. 

Yes, Steve is a plant.

When I first moved in to this apartment a few months ago, I was happy to see the previous tenant had left a lot of plants.  I love greenery, it makes me feel calm and peaceful in a world filled with concrete. I was also happy to learn that my roommate already had found a great woman who would come help us take care of the place as we both work very long days. She comes a couple times a week and one of her responsibilities is to water the plants. 

But Steve (and this was before the plant was bestowed a name) didn’t seem to be thriving.  Rather on the contrary, when I walked in after a long day I would naturally look at the plant while unlocking my door, and he was always pretty limp, especially days in between the housekeepers visit.  For the first several weeks I didn’t pay much attention, I mean, it’s just a plant.  Not even my plant, really.  And it was still alive, if barely. 

But a few weeks ago, for some reason beyond human understanding, I looked at the plant and I felt a little compassion.  I thought, it must be a pretty horrible life to be almost dead every day, desperate for a drink of water.  To barely receive enough nourishment to stay alive, holding on tight, waiting with baited breath for the next time someone might throw a little water on you.  

And that day had been a rough one for me, too.  I was feeling like I wasn’t making any progress, like my entire day had been wasted for one reason or another, and all I felt I could do was lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling.  Not unlike the leaves of the plant that were laying limp on the ground.  

And I felt a bizarre emotional connection to the plant.  And I decided if I did nothing else productive in my time here in this country, I wanted to see the plant not just survive but flourish.  

So I dumped a whole bottle of water on him that day.  And just a few hours later, he really perked up.  So the next day I dumped another bottle of water on him.  And I’ve done the same every single day for the last few weeks. And look at him now. He’s thriving, flourishing, showing some new growth and new life and vibrant color and strength.  

And then my roommate and I named him Steve.  And I greet Steve every day as I come in, and give him another bottle of water.    

And it’s been such a simple, beautiful, visual cue for me every day to remember that Steve isn’t the only living thing that needs nourishment every day in order to flourish. I’m the same. 

And when I feel listless, limp, unable to produce new life and strength, it’s often because I haven’t been watered that day, or if I’m honest, for a few days.  Yes, I mean drinking actual water to nourish my cells, but more than that, some of that living water to nourish my soul, that was offered by the guy who came to give us life to the full.  

Maybe some people are like a cactus, and can go days or weeks without water and still flourish and grow.  I’m not one of them.  I’m like Steve.  I can go days between waterings and survive, but I’m limp and pale and weak and grouchy and rather pathetic.  Ultimately, it’s my choice to live like that, or, if I want to flourish, to open my heart to the Living Water every single day.  Why is it so easy for me to feel compassion towards a silly plant but not my own heart and soul and life?  

Maybe it’s just me, and I’m a weirdo for feeling a bizarre emotional connection to the wellbeing of this plant in my care, and you'll all wonder if I've really gone off the deep end. But even if that’s true, the fruit is flourishing, and for that I’m truly grateful.