I
have a Christmas cactus that Dwight and Lisa Forseth gave to me when they moved away from Wetaskiwin, what is it now, seven or eight
years ago? They had bought it at a church auction fundraiser some years earlier, and they didn't think it would travel well, piled in with all the rest of their belongings.
Plants have a hard time with me, as I don’t look after them very faithfully. Cactus is actually a good choice; they don’t die very quickly when left without water. And I was sure thrilled when it began to show a host of glorious blossoms right in time for Christmas. One year—I think it was because it went terribly short on water, it missed the Christmas bloom. But then it made up for it by colourfully observing the next major religious holiday: Easter.
This year has been different again.
For years I had thought it needed to be re-potted: it was getting rather sickly. I figured it was root-bound. But the big blue and white china pot was very rounded on the sides, and I knew I would never be able to get it out of there in one piece. It was a dilemma. Once or twice I even considered smashing the pot.
Last summer I learned about slashing the sides of a potted shrub before transplanting it into the ground. It was explained that inside the pot, the roots would get going 'round and 'round, getting all wrapped up in themselves, so to speak. Slashing down the sides of the ball of roots, as brutal as it sounds, actually sets all the little rootlets free to spread out and take on some new territory. As Christmas approached again, and once more I surveyed the sorry state of my cactus, I thought of this technique of making cuts in the root-ball. But first I had to get it out of the pot.
I want you to stop and consider how you would feel if you were that plant and something like this began to transpire on an ordinary day out of a clear blue sky. I took a very large serrated knife and stabbed it down to the bottom of the pot, then sawed all the way across in both directions. I repeated the mayhem in a line at ninety degrees from the first. Then I turned the heavy container upside down and shook it violently. Dry soil began to shake loose from its moorings, seeing as how, no surprise, it hadn’t been watered in quite a while. After a lot of soil had come out, I began tugging the four different sections in turn, easing them down and out and onto the floor. As careful as I tried to be, though, there was quite a lot of damage.
Poor cactus! Its world was upside down and everything was falling to pieces. But I wasn’t finished yet. Any chunk that was big enough to hold onto and which had matted roots indicating where it had rested against the side of the pot, I slashed deeply with my knife. Then I began to stuff all the chunks and smaller pieces, willy-nilly, back into the pot, finishing by scooping up all the stray dirt with a whisk and dust pan and dumping it on top of the pathetic remains. Then I rocked it hard to settle some of the soil down deeper, half-drowned it with water, and set it back in its place.
No, it definitely did not bloom for Christmas. I think it was just glad to be alive, and it was barely even that. But it began to regenerate, and just in time for Valentine’s Day, there is one beautiful blossom and the promise of many more buds.
We
hear the saying, “Bloom where you’re planted.” It means to be satisfied with
your lot in life and to believe God to use you where you are. But sometimes we
enter a season of tremendous upheaval, and we think maybe God wants us to move
on to something new. Maybe. But maybe not. Maybe He sees us becoming
root-bound, all our opportunities for growth just being turned back on
ourselves until we’re at risk of becoming self-centred and ingrown.
Jesus said, “My Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more.” (John 15:1-2, NLT)
Sometimes we endure seasons where everything that can be shaken will be shaken. Or we go through deep pruning. At other times we find ourselves so dry spiritually that we feel we’re going to shrivel up and die. But as Isaiah 35:1 tells us, we serve a God Who, in His time, will cause even the desert to rejoice and blossom like a rose.
