This is my rosebush. My husband got it for me for Valentine's Day a couple of weeks after I had our daughter five years ago. He expected --hoped-- that it would die after I had enjoyed its finery for a couple weeks, maybe a month. Alas, I found that miniature rose bushes can be kept and enjoyed in the house for all eternity. I was thrilled. My husband was not.
Since then, my rosebush has gone through phase after phase. It gets devoured by spider mites until I remember to treat it and it recovers, leggy, almost leafless but with one beautiful bloom on a scraggly branch. I then diligently spray the mites and it recovers, only to be left for a week or two while we are farming, and it gets starved for water.
I've come to empathize with my precious rosebush. Often it is in the seasons that I'm the most haggard and busy that I simply neglect it, and its appearance mirrors my own feelings.
That was especially the case this winter. I've always been the kind of person with way too many hobbies and interests and not enough time. I've been chided with remarks about being a Jack-of-all-trades and master of none, and how a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing (though I haven't found this to be the case with my music, except maybe for my listeners).
I've always felt that I *could* be doing more. Compared myself to others who are seemingly, seamlessly doing it all. Felt as though, if I spent one moment at home, the elusive "everyone" would surely be building priceless memories without me.
This winter it became unmanageable. As long as all my plates spun exactly as they were supposed to, I could rush through the week "successfully." Two hundred inches of rain (a hyperbole) during harvest was the first monkey wrench flung into my plate spinning act. Then a winter of passing around sicknesses, amidst trying to organize two Christmas programs.
The final straw was needing to address some health issues with our daughter, which added one more thing to the mix. Enter full on meltdown mode for me. I was just like that scraggly rose bush my husband detests: half wilted, leaves falling off, with one gorgeous bloom every so often that sucked the life out of the rest of the plant. Why keep it? he insists.
I decided to hack the plant down to nothing. Only the barest glimmer of a stalk can be seen. Coincidentally, this Covid-19 stuff started rearing its head in our area about the same time. Everything was canceled. Not to trivialize the massive economic impact or the terrible time that people are having with it, but my first reaction to the cancellations was a sigh of relief (along with those feelings of uncertainty, but we all know about those). My calendar was suddenly empty. Everything, cut off.
I decided to use this time (as probably many others are) to reflect on exactly what I can prune out of life.
Two weeks later, my plant is still looking pretty crappy. The shoot that appeared almost as soon as I cut off the whole shebang, still tiny. I had expected to see something great coming out of it. I know this is poor writing and totally predictable, but it’s the truth that yet again, Rosebush reflects real life.
I honestly thought that having no commitments, no worries that everyone else was hanging out without me (Why yes, I am 13. Why do you ask?), would be a mental reset. It was, at first. I rode my horse, got in a good prayer routine, practiced music, spent tons of time outside. Yaaayyy. Then it was cold for one day, and I read an article (do not, Best Beloved, read articles). I yelled at my kids, decided I wasn't doing enough in any area of my life, and the golden calf of Unbusy was melted. Having fewer commitments just made me find different ones. My last “If I just slow down life will get easier” was shattered.
Like that rose bush, there is nothing I can do to make my life magically easier/more magical. We live in a world with coronavirus and cancer, after all. Like the rosebush, I can’t water myself, or keep the spider mites at bay. Thankfully, unlike my care of my rosebush, the Lord cares for me perfectly. Sure, self care and slowing down is important. We all need to have the dead stuff pruned off from time to time. But ultimately all I can pray for is to cling to my Savior who has provided for me perfectly by His death on the cross, to know that He will continue to "water" me with His Word and Sacrament.
