Botanical

The alarm went off this morning. Thrice, actually, before I committed to leaving my safe-haven of nested sheets. I shuffled to the first thing my brain inaudibly cries for in the morning: coffee. I mindlessly trickle in sugar and half-in-half and meander to the bathroom for the morning shower ritual that breaks my morning fog. And then I stopped.

On my bathroom window sill sit four potted succulents, ones that I've had sitting there since August. I normally water them after I shower each morning, but for the past seven months, watering hasn't seemed to make much difference in their growth. Except for this morning.

Thick, fleshy buds are sprouting new growth. Burgeoning green shoots are spreading with maroon underbellies. Suddenly, it's like they've grown in strides overnight. But knowing the nature of succulents, I know this isn't the case. They've been growing slowly underneath my very nose, taking their time and patiently coming into new beginnings.

I marvel at their delicate growth... content somehow that this slow process rendered such surprise and marvel upon my recognizing it. I found myself eagerly awaiting the next moment of noticing this botanical growth. As I turn from this wonder to approach the shower, my eyes pass by my reflection in the mirror. And then I stopped. Again.

You're growing, too.

The still, small voice repeated it again.

You're growing, too. 

We marvel at vines,

at flowers and trees

and all things green

eagerly awaiting their

blossoming...

And here I am

wondering,

what would it be like

if we so eagerly awaited

and noticed

our own growth

So often I want to see my growth in life as though I were leveling up, or morphing into the next better version of myself in some drastic way. That the moment I turned 25, I would somehow look back in the mirror and see a woman rather than the girl I so often witness. But our growth as humans doesn't look like installing macOS Mojave and suddenly having updated software. It doesn't work like earning enough points in a game to get to the next level with new perks. It doesn't even work like processing new data and having it stored on our hard-drive for eternity. Our growth is much more complex than that because we are human beings, desperate for flourishing.

Our growth is botanical. It is slow moving, slow absorbing and ever pivoting in new directions to find the light.

Our growth is botanical. It is dependent upon something life-giving pouring into it, dying to some things when those things have been bent or crushed enough.

Our growth is botanical. It is seemingly unnoticeable unless compared at long lengths of time and it is a force that will fight the harshest of treatments because being botanical means its very nature is to strive for growth.

My growth is botanical. If I looked at each day and asked myself what was different... I couldn't identify it. But at the end of the year, by the grace of God, I can find myself seeing growth. I'm not grown... but I'm growing. And sometimes you just need to acknowledge that to keep going. That where you are right now, while it might not seem significant, is a more flourishing place than last year. Even if you experienced drought, crushed leaves and excessive heat, your roots plunged deeper and your immunity to difficult climates expanded.

You're growing, too.

And you should marvel at that.