The Joy of Failure

Several years ago, my kids were carving pumpkins and one of them found a seed inside that had sprouted.  He showed it to me and said, “Look, Mom.  This pumpkin is a better gardener than you.”

He was right.  I cannot grow anything.  Everyone around me knows this.  My sister once gave me a houseplant that was “hard to kill.”  It was super resilient, she said, the perfect plant for my lack of skills.  The thing shriveled and died so quickly the expression of disbelief on her face might have had a longer life.

The only ones not convinced of my black thumb are the thorny vines and poison ivy thriving in my backyard.  These things I have actually tried to kill.  I am a failure at both growing plants and stopping plants.  But my limitations only increase my appreciation for the amazing God of creation.  When I see the beauty of nature, even where other people have contributed talents, I know those big blooms and vibrant colors are the work of a very powerful God.  He can do so many things that I cannot.  There is joy in knowing he controls the land where I once dug a stump that proceeded to grow in eight new places.