It all started with an orchid which sits on my bedside table. Over the course of a few months, it has been pushed back from its position of prominence, closer to the window, behind a row of family photographs and several stacks of books. The other day I noticed it needed water, its broad leaves limp and rather disparaged looking. In studying the specimen, I was surprised and delighted to find two new shoots of fresh growth, both of which bore tender buds for new flowers. I am told that some varieties of orchids actually thrive with moderate neglect. Still, I watered it and began to tend to it, like a favored child. That is where I made my grave error.
I moved it to the kitchen, with the same filtered light, but closer to my reach. Each day I watched the two stalks grow, and the buds plumped out with much promise. Because orchids grow towards the light, the stalks grew in a gangly, awkward manner twisting around established leaves and veering towards the sunlight, away from the upright post upon which they are normally trained. One morning, I gently lifted one of the spikes to fasten it to the post. Just at the moment it was upright and aligned, it snapped in my fingers – the way a fresh green bean snaps, or asparagus when you break off the woody ends.
I was stunned. For minutes, I was unable to understand what I had just done. But there it was, the evidence in my hands. That which I had sought to nurture and grow, I had broken instead. Honestly, I was devastated. Enough so, it caused me to pause and think. Do I do this in other ways? Where had I done this before? Have I overly attended people and relationships that needed space to grow? Did I sometimes break things when I was only trying to be helpful? Were my best intentions sometimes hurtful? Yes. For these times in my personal history, I am deeply sorry, and I grieve them.
Thinking of these things, holding the evidence in my hands, I wondered what to do now. About to toss my little budding stalk into the trash, I felt a strong redirection to put it in a small vase of water on my kitchen windowsill above my sink. Some strange hope blossomed in me, that life still happens, even after all the accidental breakage sustained along the way. “Put it in water and light and see if it will grow again.”
I was praying one day about some other failing of my own, and I felt Jesus assuring me in his kind way, “Elizabeth, it was an accident. You’re not perfect. I know this about you. I forgive you. Now do the right thing.” I was slightly surprised with the perspective… “Ya, it was an accident.” A lot like the unfortunate incident with my orchid.
I’m not saying we should lightly discount our transgressions. We are called to examine, confess and correct our hurtful actions – things done and left undone. How much we need to acknowledge that we have not loved God with our whole heart! We have not loved our neighbor as ourselves. With that said, it is also helpful to acknowledge the reality that we are imperfect, we are human, we have broken habits and patterns, and we do make mistakes. We need to remember that about ourselves. We hurt others accidentally. Not everything we do is premeditated, with vindictive intent to injure. We do and say things that are misconstrued from what we intended. Despite our best efforts, we still do not hit the mark. Jesus knows this about us and moves us from a place of shame and helplessness to a place of restoration and life.
In the Ash Wednesday service at our church, we read Psalm 103 which depicts the character of God in light of our iniquities.
“The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He will not always chide, nor will he keep his anger forever. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; so far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us. As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it and it is gone, and its place knows it no more.”
Somehow reading this, reminded me of what Jesus said to me. He knows we are weak and powerless to help ourselves. I find it enormously helpful to remember the essence of my nature as much as I remember God’s. It keeps me in right relationship. I know my position and need; and I know the source of reparation and reconciliation. As easily as I stumble into “grievous ways”, he is equally quick to pull me out. His graciousness and mercy and love are quick to override all my failings – known and unknown…things done without knowing how they might hurt another. “Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit.” (Psalm 32:1-2) So true, through the Lord Jesus Christ.
So, what do we do now with relationships we have bent and twisted out of shape to the point of snapping them in two? What is the right thing to do? In consideration of the way Jesus treats us, we have that strange hope that life can still happen, even after all the accidental breakage sustained along the way. I hear Jesus saying, “Put it in Water and Light and see if it will grow again.”