I have a small tree that my brother-in-law dug up from his backyard in Miami. In his backyard, it was the most gorgeous plant with huge, abundant angel trumpet flowers that weighed down the branches to near breaking point. Well, at least it was gorgeous in his backyard.
Perhaps it thrives on the stifling humidity that makes me despise South Florida. Perhaps its roots need more room than a container – which it lives in because it cannot withstand North Florida winters and must be brought inside to avoid freezing temps. Perhaps it’s because it rains nearly every day in Miami in the summer. Or perhaps it’s because my brother in law has a sprinkler system in his backyard.
During the sticky heat of summer, the lack of rain coupled with a heat index hovering at 100 degrees has caused my trumpet plant to look rather pitiful. After coming home from work, I noticed the leaves of the poor plant were once again drooping – straight down - looking like a dejected child with head down and shoulders slumped over.
After unwinding the 100 miles of garden hose in order to water the plants in that area of the yard (unlike my brother-in-law, I do NOT have a sprinkler system) and soaking all the plants – particularly Mr. Droopy-Drawers – I went inside and hoped for the best.
The next morning, the trumpet plant once again stood gloriously at attention like a Marine Gunny. It was happy and content, rested up and filled up, ready for another day of battling the brutal heat.
When we miss the water of The Word, we start getting thirsty and become dehydrated. One day might not seem like a big deal. Our spiritual leaves droop imperceptibly. After a few more days, we are parched. The enemy is busy whispering that we need rest, we need this or that or the other – anything to distract us from realizing what the problem really is.
There are some weeks of my life like this. I’m pumped up after Sunday service, encouraged in the Word and ready to take on hell with a water pistol. Then Monday rolls around, some disaster happens at work and I’m running full throttle all day. By the time I get home, there are assorted crises that require my attention.
I fall into bed utterly exhausted. When the alarm rings early the next morning, I hit the snooze and can’t seem to pry myself up out of the bed. Tuesday is a rerun of Monday. By Friday, I am running on fumes.
If any man thirsts, let him come unto me, and drink.... (John 7:37). My source is only a breath away. Why am I still thirsty? Hmmmm, maybe it's the “come unto me” part.
My husband is forever reminding me that the trumpet plant has to be watered.