A Clematis and A Lesson in Patience
“Come, look!” I call to my wife. It is a single, pink clematis flower. No big deal, except that I had planted that clematis three years ago and it never wanted to grow. So the next year I planted another clematis next to it, and the two together withered, no matter how much I watered and fertilized. I meant to tear it out and plant something that would grow in that space, but I never got around to it. And finally, this year, it flowers—first one lone blossom, then almost overnight six more are born.
“Remember that parable about the fig tree?” I say to Pam. She remembers, of course. A man plants a fig tree, and three years later it still bears no fruit. So he says to his gardener, Cut it down. Why should it use up the ground? But the gardener intercedes for the poor fig tree. Let me break up the soil a bit so the roots can breathe and drink, he says. Let me work some manure into the soil. Give it another year. If it still bears no fruit, then you can cut it down (Luke 13: 6-9).
I sometimes think the highest virtue is not faith or hope or even love—but patience, which is simply the ability to leave things alone. We are taught early on how to make and shape things, how to make something of ourselves. When the thing won’t take our shape, we learn how to push harder and work longer. In this mindset, patience is little more than teeth-gritting, holding on until the thing turns out “right,” or until we die trying.
The patience I’m thinking of, the kind exemplified in the gardener, is different. It knows how to work, how to break up the soil, put on the manure, but mostly it knows how to step back and wait. It knows how to leave things alone, how to let people be. Not to abandon things or walk away from people, but to stand by, faithfully, often doing more to help when we do nothing, or something so slight it seems as nothing.
This patience trusts that every living thing knows what it is destined to become. It may struggle for years, but it will one day blossom. Or it won’t. But that is up to God, not us. We’re all pretty good at working to make something grow, to make someone flower. The poor little clematis in my backyard tells me we’d be better to leave things alone, let people be.
This is so good! Let people be. It’s so hard when I have some really good ideas for my people! But you are so right. Thank you for continuing to share your wisdom with us.
We ALL have really good ideas for our people!
I think this is a great metaphor for parenting – letting someone bloom in the time that reflects who he or she is. And letting a Clematis be a Clematis rather than something else…thanks, David!
We all know that our children are “ego extensions,” so we have to work against our natural inclination in order to help them be who they are created to be…and not what WE want to create in God’s place.
Interesting that three years late was the perfect time.
I think there’s something magical about the three year mark for plants—which is why in the parable the man comes with his saw to cut down the fig tree after three years. By now….it’s supposed to have produced something!
This reminds me of my husband’s grandmother. She had an apple tree in her backyard that wouldn’t fruit. One day she had a talk with it and told it if it had no apples the next year, “Down you come!” The story goes that the next year that little tree produced apples. Glad you were blessed by your little unexpected bloom.
That’s a great story—just having a stern little talk with your tree. Your grandmother was a plant whisperer.
Thanks for this reminder, David. Patience, patience, patience.
I love this so much David, let it be. Singing songs of wisdom, let it be…
As a gardener, I live by the old adage “First year sow, second year slow, third year grow.” Or in this case, blossom! Plants, like people, need a little time to come into their own.
I like that Sow–Slow–Grow. That’s certainly true of so many things I’ve planted.