Where I Thrive

I like naming things. Not just dogs and cats, but also cars, houses, and even house plants. I’ve named lots of the houses in our neighborhood. When I’m going for a walk, it’s not uncommon for me to tell my husband I’m walking to Dracula’s Castle (named for the bats that fly overhead in the early evening) or that I’m walking up to The Easter Egg House (named for its yard, which would be a great place to hide Easter eggs.) We had to re-name the Easter Egg House not long ago because its owners cut down two prominent, beautiful old trees, leaving the environment far less favorable for hunting eggs.  Now we call it The Easter X House. I miss those trees every day.

I have a shamrock named Ed. When I bought him, he had delicate, white flowers and lots of leaves. When I first brought him home I put him in a lovely blue and white pot my brother gave me and set him in the dining room. Within a week or two, all his flowers fell off and then, after a little more time had passed, his stems grew long and spindly and all his leaves reached sideways for the window. He didn’t like the dining room, so I moved him to the kitchen table. He was happier there, but over time his leaves thinned out. He still looked healthy-ish, there was just a lot less of him. He lived there for years and never bloomed.

A few months ago I moved Ed upstairs to my writing room (a space which used to be our guest bedroom.) It wasn’t long afterwards that Ed started looking a little fuller. Then a lot fuller. Today, as I write this blog post/email, Ed is sitting across the room from me on a bookshelf by the window. He’s adorned by lovely white flowers, his leaves are plentiful and deep green. He’s even healthier than when I first brought him home.

All this got me thinking— sometimes I judge myself too harshly when I find I’m not thriving in a particular environment—when I don’t perform as well as I think I should.

“Why do I get so tired when I’m in a big group of people? ” I often ask myself, frowning. “I need to do better!”

But, what if, like Ed, God made me in such a way that I thrive in a different environment—in this case, a quieter one. It doesn’t mean  that I can’t visit big bustling, noisy, places full of people. In fact, if necessary, I could live there for years and years, just like Ed lived downstairs for so long. But like him, if I do stay there long I’m likely to grow thin, pale, and spindly, at least in spirit if not in form. I shouldn’t expect myself to thrive there anymore than I should expect Ed to thrive in the dining room, where apparently it is far too dark for his constitution.

Blessings to you this week. God made you. He loves who you are.

~Amy