This year I decided to splurge on flowers, so I bought lots of “wave” pansies that did very well this spring on my back patio. Then I bought three gorgeous hanging baskets dominated by varying shades of purple, accented with white.  I put two of them side-by-side in a metal “half barrel” planter which was an unbridled success. But the prize goes to the third basket hanging from the corner of my carport for all to enjoy.

This basket came in the usual plastic pot with its own hanger. I knew from experience that it would dry out quickly in its small pot, and need once or even twice daily watering.  So I took it down before the heat hit full force and gingerly removed it from its pot. I lost a few small branches but not too serious.  Then I struggled to get it out of the old pot and replant in a larger one which I filled with extra rich potting soil and lots of organic compost. I lost even more greenery.  Then came the real challenge: placing the pot in my sturdy metal basket with real chains without more damage. After an annoying struggle with the chains trying to position the plant, I was ready to hang my prize.

The pot by this time was heavier than I wanted to lift, plus you have to get on a step stool to reach the hook.  No one was around to help me and I was impatient.  I thought I could hold my creation on the handle of my step stool with one hand while reaching up for the wire hanger, but disaster struck:  The pot escaped the hanger, fell, and landed on the cement – heartbreak!  I started all over to rescue my darling: unhooking the chains again, tenderly righting the plant, scooping soil back in the pot, and replanting the now bedraggled plants. I called a neighbor to help hold the pot high enough to reach the hook. Success finally came, but my plant was a sorry sight. I trimmed, watered, and apologized to the poor thing, then hoped nature would heal my crimes against it.

It took a while but it’s back giving pleasure to all, except for one gap that reminds me of life’s fragility, the need to respect all the steps, and not take shortcuts. Fortunately, nature is forgiving and the plant is more lush than ever. (See my photo below.) I’m like this plant, a little battered but still surviving life’s bumps and knocks.

I’ve learned lots of lessons from plants over the years. Here are a few more:

• This same basket still needs to be watered daily, and twice if the temperature gets above about 98°.  Remorse has made me take extra care of this plant, so I’ve gotten into the habit of “dead heading” it during my morning watering. I’m amazed at how many dead and wilted blooms I remove each day. Last week I observed that this process is a lot like self-improvement. As an adult discovering Christianity, I found I had lots of bad habits that needed dead-heading too. So as I pluck wilted flowers, I think about the unworthy thoughts and actions I need to pluck out of me.
• Plants, like people, can become “root bound” – stuck in our comfort zones and missing opportunities for positive change. In plants, the roots gradually absorb much of the soil or crowd it out, then grow in tight circles around the sides and bottom of their pot. The plant suffers, producing fewer flowers and not growing. Then it just needs to be tapped out of the old pot, the root ball loosened and put in a larger pot with fresh soil. Loosening the intertwined roots often tears them, and I imagine I hear them complaining, “How could you do this to us?” – just like we complain to God when faced with a major life transition. But sometimes it’s the only way to get increased growth and productivity, in us and in plants.
• Finally, “. . .whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap” (Galatians 6:7). I’ve tried just putting a commercial hanging basket out and was always disappointed when the flowers drooped in the heat no matter how much you watered, their colors faded, or they just failed to thrive. This year, my basket got the royal treatment: larger pot; better, richly fertilized soil; plenty of sun and water; and finally dead heading the spent blooms to encourage maximum growth. The result is pretty spectacular – truly “joy in the harvest.”

What are you planting or nurturing?  Is life repotting you?  Remember you’ll bloom again!